


The Summer Maid

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Increasingly contrived excuses for sansan to have dubcon sex, book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-31 14:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12134571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: In lands hundreds and hundreds of miles north of the Wall, a spring ritual sacrifice is about to take place in order to assure the world a long and plentiful summer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimberlite8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberlite8/gifts).



> This is inspired of an old prompt by kimberlite8. I wrote the draft almost two years ago, reread it last weekend and decided to resume writing it. I hope you enjoy.

The weather was changing, getting unexpectedly clement. About a moon before, the thick clouds which had hung above the forest for so long had dissipated and given place to the bluest of skies. Shortly after, the ice on the nearby lake had thinned so much that it was no longer safe to cross it neither by dogsled or foot and one had to walk many extra miles to get to the other side and hunt the deer which thrived in the forest there. Winter was coming to its end, had decreed the clan’s Elders before reuniting in the council’s longhouse earlier this morning.

 

Winter had been long and harsh , yet as Sansa had never known anything other - the season having lasted almost a decade and a half and she having only recently turned four and ten - it had never seemed so bad to her. Her people lived in lands where snow never melted completely and some ice always remained in the sea even at the high of summer. Amongst the Free Folk, they were of those who lived the furthest from the Kneelers. Their village was so far from that colossal wall which was said to divide the south from the north that only a handful of those of her clan had ever seen it of their own two eyes. As many, Sansa often wondered if its existence had not simply been made up by those who came back in a will to impress. Even those Kneelers that were said to live south of it seemed the stuff of legend. It was hard to believe people could live in houses built from stones and wear clothes of metal to battlefield. And the point of having but one ruler for thousands and thousands of people was impossible to grasp when it was common knowledge wise decisions could only be taken by the deliberation of a community’s oldest members.

 

With the arrival of this new, beautiful weather, Sansa could hardly stay inside. She was sitting by her family’s longhouse, enjoying the sun. Never had she known such strong sunbeams. Installed over a high pile of snow, she was mending some of her brothers’ tunics, as her mother had asked of her earlier this morning. She was so warm in her fur and hide garbs that she had had no choice but to lower her cowl, loosen her scarf and remove her mittens in order to stop sweating. Yet even with all of that, she was still very comfortable. _How hot will summer be if this is just a glimpse of it, as Father and Mother have told us?_ she wondered, bewildered at the thought that this might indeed be just the beginning of it. It was hard for her to imagine the air could get even warmer, it seemed impossible! What would she be wearing then? None of her dresses would be appropriate anymore very soon and she’d have no choice but to sew herself a whole set of new clothes. Oh! That was an exciting prospect!

 

“Hello to you, Sansa. Are your parents home?” a voice took Sansa out of her reverie. She jerked her head sideway to see it was that of an old woman from the Elder Council. Her name was Argath and she was walking toward the longhouse with another council member, this one a man called Orog. Both were very old, with white hair and wrinkled faces.

 

Sansa made to stand - the Elders deserved everyone’s respect after all – yet it was hard with the pile of tunic she had over her lap, and Argath gestured for her to remain seated.

 

“Good afternoon to you both,” Sansa said, bowing her head deferentially. “Yes, they are home. Would you like me to tell them you wish to speak to them?”

 

“No, it’s all right, my child. Stay where you are,” Orog answered, smiling kindly at her.

 

Sansa smiled back at them nervously and followed with her gaze as they entered her family’s longhouse.

 

The Elder Council meeting had ended, apparently. And now, two of them wanted to speak to her parents. That made Sansa anxious, quite a lot to be honest, yet she tried not to think about what that might imply and to continue with her needlework. Her attempt was not very successful: she was too distracted and kept making mistakes. At one point, she even sewed two tunics together, something Arya often did, but that she had not in years! How very shameful! Thankfully, there was no witness to her clumsiness.

 

The two Elders spent a long time in her family’s longhouse - it seemed like hours to Sansa before she saw them again. Despite pricking up her ears as much as she could for the first few minutes of their visit, she barely managed to make out more than a few word of their conversation. It was highly frustrating, but also, very nerve-racking, thereby at one point, she stopped trying to understand altogether and resigned herself to stay in the dark for now.

 

When the two Elders finally exited her family’s longhouse, they smiled at Sansa and the look of respect they had in their eyes as they gazed down at her froze her to the bone. _Oh gods, have they… no, it’s not possible,_ she mused. Her whole body shivering despite the warmth, she watched them as they headed back to the Elder Council’s longhouse. She was imagining things. This all couldn’t be because…

 

“Sansa!” Mother called, her voice somewhat strained. “Come in, please. Your father and I need to speak to you.”

 

Mother was standing in the entranceway, gazing at her, and when Sansa turned to meet her stare, she saw her eyes were teary, though her bearing was even prouder than usual. _Calm down, Sansa, you’re probably just imagining things,_ she tried to reassure herself. Taking a deep breath, she gathered the tunics she had in her lap in her arms and stood up.

 

She entered the longhouse, her knees weak under her and heart racing like a wild horse. The place seemed very dark after the brightness of the sunny day, and it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. Soon though, Sansa could discern the wood posts and bark walls adorned with pelts and colourful woven wall hangings. As always, the room’s air was thick with smoke and smelled of beasts and food. By the table, her father was sitting, looking very grave and somewhat… _moved_?

 

_Oh, no, please no…_

“Sansa sit down,” he told her gently, gesturing for her to take place before him.

 

Sansa did as he asked even as Mother pulled herself a chair by Father’s side. They both wordlessly gazed at her for what appeared like an eternity, clearly uncomfortable. Yet eventually, Father sighed and broke the silence.

 

“Sansa. You’ve been chosen,” he announced quietly. He winced, as if saying so had cost him.

 

At hearing the dreaded words, Sansa gasped, the colour draining from her face. She laid a hand on the table to clutch at it, feeling the room spin around her.

“Chosen?” she asked in a weak murmur, though the truth was, she knew very well what he’d meant by that. It had been the talk of the village for the last week. Everyone had guessed that was the reason why the Elders had gathered this morning. They needed to designate the virgin flowered girl who’d become the Summer Maid. And she was the one. _Oh by the sacred Children…_

“You’ve been chosen for the ceremonial sacrifice,” Father told her, each of his word slow, as if they were painful to utter. “It’s a great honour to be bestowed on our family, one many dream of for their daughter. Yet I won’t lie: it’s a bit of shock to your mother and me and we’d have rather it not be you. You’re still so very young...”

 

Shaking his head, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumped in something like defeat. “But our reticence doesn’t matter,” he continued with the same heaviness in his speech. “This is not something one can refuse. The Elder’s decision cannot be denied, they know best out of all of us in this clan how to appease the gods and ensure we get the long and fruitful summer we’ve been praying for for the last few years. This ceremony is most important. If the Elder Council elected you, then we must trust in them, bow to their demand and be grateful.” While there was a deep sadness to Father’s voice, Sansa could also glimpse a spark of pride shining in his eyes. Very few families could boast to have had one of its members having served for the spring ritual sacrifice. It was a great honour indeed.

 

For many long minutes, Sansa was too overwhelmed to speak. Silence stretched, disturbed only by the cackle of hens just outside the longhouse and the laughter of children playing further away.

 

Both of Sansa’s parents had tears in their eyes. Mother was smiling at her in spite of this, but Father, he was staring out the small window, blinking, his face twitching as if he were in pain. The sight was too much for her. Sansa had very rarely seen her mother weep and never even imagined her father could do as much, and thus she averted her eyes to stare down at her lap. Her own vision was blurry with tears and a heavy drop fell down on the embroidered hide of her skirt.

 

“I am happy and honoured,” Sansa whispered, distractedly watching the water stain her tear had left on her skirt slowly fade away. It was hard for her to speak, her throat was closed with repressed sobs, however, she wouldn’t allow herself to cry just now. Her words had been genuine. The notion that she would serve as the Summer Maid may be exceedingly daunting, she was still very honoured to have been chosen. As a child, it had been a dream of hers to be named for the spring ritual sacrifice, though she had not understood the implications back then. So very few women ever got the chance to become the Summer Maid - one every spring – and in her youth, Sansa had prayed the gods, the heart trees and all the Children of the forest that one day, she’d be chosen. Yet now that it had happened in truth, she was scared to death.

 

“Another moon will pass before the ritual sacrifice. You’ll have time to prepare for it,” Sansa’s mother assured her, laying a hand on hers. “We’ll need to talk, Sansa... about what will occur. I’d have rather wait until the day you’ll find a good man and leave our longhouse to explain all these things to you, but now...”

 

“I know more that you believe mother. I’m less innocent than you may fear,” Sansa hurried to answer, blushing deeply. “And I won’t give any reason to you or to the Elder Council to regret that I’ve been chosen.”

 

“We know it, Sansa. You’ve never been anything but a dutiful and obedient daughter,” Father said softly, glancing at her with a tight smile on his face.

 

And dutiful she would be once again. To be the maiden whose purity would be sacrificed for the sake of a long summer was a very frightening prospect indeed. And yet, Sansa couldn’t deny how special it made her feel to have been picked among all the hundreds of young girls of her village. Only the most pious, pure and deserving maiden of a clan could be selected to play this most important role, a young girl who would be regarded highly by the old gods of the forest. The ritual sacrifice of her maidenhead would appease their anger and convince them to grant the forest, land and sea, as well as all the beasts, men and women which inhabited them, the plentiful summer they had long yearned for. If the Elders had seen Sansa fit, who was she to doubt them? They knew best than anyone after all, Father had said as much.

 

And now in the weeks that would follow, the gods themselves would choose the man most apt to serve as their tool in the sacrifice of her purity. They would elect him the only way gods knew, through the shedding of men blood. A long series of combats would thus be organised and the last man standing would be their tool.

 

****

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter is finally done for this! I hope you enjoy. If you do, please be so kind as to let me know! :D

Once the Summer Maid had been chosen by the Elders and her election officially announced to the whole clan, the search for the man who would take her purity from her and deliver it to the old gods of the forest could begin. Tradition demanded that he be the fiercest and strongest member of their tribe, thus a contest open to all would soon be held. Any man of the clan who wished to participate was encouraged to do so and give his name to the Elders. Starting from next week, they would all oppose each other barehanded, one duel at a time, until only the most powerful and determined remained. The Horned Man, they would call him and he would represent all that was vigorous, hard, and male in this world.

All those men wouldn’t fight for Sansa of course. They’d do it to prove themselves worthy in the eyes of the gods. That was what would motivate them - not lust but devotion. Theirs would be a pious gesture, a selfless act with which they would be seeking the blessing of their gods. And so Sansa had no right to see it as a competition in which she would be the prize to win. Her mother had told her as much, warned her not to grow full of herself when she saw the large number of men that would ask to be added to the Elders’ list. A good Summer Maid should remain humble all through the sacrifice’s process. She and the Horned Man would be mere tools in an act much grander than them.

****

For days after her election, the most skilled women of the clan had worked on the prettiest dress Sansa had ever seen. It was made from whitened hide and had delicate white flowers embroidered around its neckline and the hem of its sleeves. Sansa squealed in delight when she tried it on for the first time after it was finally completed. It fitted her perfectly, drew attention to her womanly curves and to the thinness of her waist.

A cloak of white fox fur, the most rare, had also been sewn for her, its pelt so soft and warm, and Sansa draped it over her shoulders. She knew she looked beautiful dressed as thus and couldn’t stop herself from grinning as she inspected herself in the small mirror her parents had exchanged against a pile of furs to some southern merchant a few years ago. The rich auburn of her hair stood out dramatically against the pure white hues of her new outfit. Her long and thick curls had been fixed in a half braid and were partly concealed under a white lace veil of unbelievable delicacy. Its fabric shone under the sunlight like a gem and yet was so light, one could see through it. The veil had been worn by previous Summer Maids for centuries and was kept in a cedar chest in the Elder Council’s longhouse for the extended periods it did not serve. It was a true honour that Sansa should be allowed to wear such an exquisite piece of work and be part of its long and rich history.

Tradition demanded that Summer Maids be garbed all in white from the time of their selection to the ceremonial sacrifice, the colour representing their purity and innocence. No one ever wore white in their tribe apart from Summer Maids, for discolouring hide was a long and arduous process. While Sansa was overjoyed that the chance had befallen on her, she knew it best not to show it too much. She’d received plenty of envious looks from other young maidens when she’d gone out in her new gown yesterday after having tried it on for the first time. She could tell many were jealous of her, which made her both uneasy and sad. She didn’t want anyone to resent her. Margaery had seemed mad when she heard the news of Sansa’s election. She had even told her that she’d surely have been picked instead of her had she not been caught by an Elder kissing a boy in the common stables a few weeks ago. She would have been a far better choice, she’d stated before storming away after she’d seen Sansa dressed in her beautiful white gown.

Therefore as she stepped out of her family’s longhouse this morning, Sansa was grateful to see her best friend Jeyne was waiting for her. The other girl was a bit envious, but she didn’t deny it at least and was happy for Sansa in spite of it.

“You look beautiful, Sansa,” Jeyne said. She was dressed in a beige dress with a dun cloak over her shoulders and had her dark brown hair in a braid. “You want to walk with me to the Elder’s longhouse? I’ve heard they’ve just started taking names for the Horned Man.”

Sansa blushed and nodded. She had heard as much and was curious of course.

Both girls started strolling over the narrow path in-between the high heaps of snow that flanked the longhouses of the village, some as tall the houses themselves. They wore thick leather and fur boots, but Sansa found hers a bit too warm today. The weather was so hot, the snow underfoot was slushy in places and a few small rivulets were running down the snow mounds. Spring was well and truly on its way.

“Oh, look at all those men lining up for you, Sansa! There are so many!” Jeyne exclaimed as the Elder Council’s longhouse came into view.

Sansa slapped her gently on the upper arm. “Don’t say that, Jeyne! They’re not lining up for _me_! This is all part of a ceremony, for which end I’ve been picked, and they hope to be picked as well as anyone would. It’s the honour they’re after, not me.”

“I know, of course,” Jeyne said, rolling her eyes. “Still, I can’t help but feel excited for you... _and very, very anxious as well_! I’d love nothing more than to wear your dress, that’s true, but I’m not sure I’d have it in me to be a Summer Maid! Just thinking about the actual sacrifice... Oh, by the Children! I can feel my face grow red and burning hot!” Jeyne admitted, raising both her hands to her mouth.

Sansa giggled, yet the truth was, she was indeed anxious. And Jeyne knew it well enough. They had spent hours chatting about what would be done to Sansa during the sacrifice throughout the previous few days. They’d both seen animals mate plenty of times of course and even surprised lovers by the village’s hot spring once or twice, nevertheless the whole process of coupling remained extremely nebulous to either of them.

Sansa knew she ought not to worry. The ceremony was not an act of passion, but very choreographed with no place for spontaneity. There would be no surprise to fear, each gesture she and the Horned Man would make would respect the same exact order Summer Maids and Horned Men had followed during spring ritual sacrifices for hundreds and hundreds of years. Besides, the priests and priestesses of the Forest Temple nearby the village would be there, overseeing the ritual and singing prayers around them. It was not as if she’d be alone with the Horned Man, unaware of what she should do.

Yet if Sansa was to be honest, such precision rendered the prospect of her sacrifice all the more daunting, somehow, and the fact that people would be watching as her virginity was being surrendered to the gods didn’t held in the least! She had spent the last few days trying to convince herself that the spirits of the forest would guide her, that it would be a magical experience which she would cherish for the remaining of her life, still she couldn’t stop her pulse from hastening when she tried to picture how it would go. A part of her was utterly terrified and with each day that passed, the feeling only grew stronger and stronger...

As she and Jeyne approached the Elders’ longhouse, Sansa began discerning the men assembled near the place’s entrance in more detail. Some of them bowed their head in respect as they noticed her, which brought Sansa to halt at once. She didn’t want to speak to any of them, not now. She was not ready for it yet. It would be too... _awkward_. Forcing a smile on her lips, she nodded back at them, hoping none sensed her uneasiness.

Many young men, and some older as well though still fit, were lined up to give their name to the Elders as potential Horned Man. While Sansa had pretended otherwise to Jeyne, the truth was, she couldn’t help but feel flattered by all of this.

Men would fight for her. _No, not for me,_ she reminded herself. In spite of how she struggled against it, she caught herself wishing some of the men she saw from afar would win more than others. Sansa was being unworthy of her title, she realised, ashamed. _I shouldn’t care_. _The most deserving will prevail. The gods will lend strength to whoever is best suited for the task and the final choice will be theirs._ It was a divine process and it was not Sansa’s place to disagree with the outcome.

Just as she was pondering on all of this, her gaze fell on the very recognisable tall, dark shape of a man who didn’t fit among the others. The view disturbed her so much that she gasped, her eyes growing wide.

“Oh, look, Sansa! It’s the Hound!” Jeyne exclaimed, just as surprised as her.

“What is he doing there?” Sansa breathed, her stare fixed on him.

“Seems like he’s waiting to give his name to the Elders, like the others,” Jeyne replied. She hesitated for an instant and raised her hand to link her arm with hers. “I’d never have thought he’d want to participate to the sacrifice. I think I’ve never seen him near a heart tree of my life at all!”

Jeyne was right. If one man of their clan had no right to ask for their gods’ benediction, it was the Hound. He had openly admitted many times to anyone listening that he didn’t believe in any higher power, that he thought all those traditions and ceremonies which were so dear to their tribe were no more than foolishness.

“I piss on your gods,” he’d once gone as far as telling an Elder during a feast.

He’d hissed the sacrilegious words loud enough that many around him overheard and less than an hour later, everyone in the village knew he’d spoken them. From what Sansa had heard, the Elder had been insisting that he joined them in worship later on, but the Hound had made clear what he thought of that.

And yet... and yet for all of that, a very small part of Sansa had predicted he would covet the Horned Man’s title. Yes deep down, she had known the Hound would want to join in the competition. She had tried to chase the notion away, to convince herself she was worrying for nothing, yet now to her dismay, her qualms were proved right.

“Why is he there?” Sansa repeated, taking a step back.

Jeyne stepped back with her and squeezed her arm gently. She didn’t say a word. She had probably guessed the truth, same as Sansa.

Unlike all of his rivals, the Hound didn’t care about honour, tradition or devotion to the old gods of the forest. No, if he wished to win the Horned Man’s title, it was because he wanted _her_. The mere idea made her shudder.

For as long as she could remember, Sansa had feared the Hound. He was scary-looking indeed, for not only was he the tallest and broadest man of their clan, but his face was hideously scarred. In his youth, his older brother had shoved his face in a burning brazier. The story was known by all in their tribe, though never spoken of openly. It was a great shame that such horror had happened amongst their people.

After the events, the Hound’s brother – Gregor he was called – had been allowed to stay in the village for nearly a decade. He had been so impressive physically, even more so than the Hound which said a lot, that many had insisted on trying to correct his bad character. Such a strong warrior would be an asset to the clan they had argued and besides, he was young and wasn’t it in the nature of youth to make mistakes?

All regretted that decision now, for he committed many other crimes over the years it took for the Elders to finally come to terms with the fact that he was well and truly a monster. To their defence, Gregor was smart enough to cover his tracks and chose his victims well. It was always hard to tell he was to blame for the horrors he did. He was good at setting the scenes of his murders in such ways that his victims appeared to have suffered from an accident or been attacked by animals.

Yet eventually, a young woman from another clan he had raped after they’d crossed path by chance in the forest managed to flee from his grasp before he could slash her throat. A few days after the events, the village received a surprise visit from a delegation of angry men from her tribe, demanding retribution. That was the straw that broke the donkey’s back. The Elders decreed that an evil spirit resided in him. As no amount of prayers and incantation had ever succeeded in expelling it from his body, they ruled he had to be exiled. Thus, he was chased from the village not long after with no weapon, food or warm clothes. Such punishment was equivalent to a death sentence during winter in the parts they lived in. No man alone could survive the harshness of the season in these conditions, even one such as Gregor. And indeed, a couple of weeks later, a group of hunters found his frozen body, lying face down in a small cave. It was a relief to all when they brought back the news of his demise to the village.

Although his brother was punished at last, the Hound never recovered from the harm he had suffered. He lost faith in the Elder’s Council for having allowed Gregor to stay amongst them for so long despite what he had done to him and resented the whole clan for not having seen him for what he was when the signs had always been there.

Not so long after his brother had been exiled, the Hound’s mean temper and coarseness brought some of the clan to propose that he be chased as well – he may very well carry that same wickedness his brother had after all. However, the Elder’s Council disagreed. His bitterness and aloofness were the result of the tribe’s own blindness to his brother’s evil, they had said. Most agreed that he was not as bad as Gregor had been, that behind his scorn, he still was a man with morals, a hard worker who was always there to lend a hand when his strength was required for one chore or another. To add to that, he was one of the clan’s best hunters and always gave the lion’s share of his catches to the Elders so that it be distributed evenly among the tribe, as was their people’s way.

And thus the Hound was allowed to stay, however he remained an outcast that lived alone at the very edge of the village. He was tolerated and yet not totally accepted. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He was always the first to criticise a decision taken by the Elders’ Council or anything that resulted from tradition. Unlike the rest of the tribe, he never asked for their counsel, nor did he ever prayed by the heart tree or join his fellow tribesmen and women in any ritual.

In the past year, Sansa had gotten to know him slightly better.

One day that she had ventured too far in the forest on her own, he saved her when she was almost attacked by a huge white bear. The beast had been running toward her, its mouth opened threateningly to reveal deadly, yellow fangs, but the Hound killed it with his spear just in time. In spite of the state of shock she’d been in, Sansa had tried to thank him for what he had done for her afterwards, yet he only laughed at her and called her stupid for having wandered so far into the woods, alone and unarmed, when white bears had been sighted by many in the surrounding woods throughout the past weeks.

“A stupid little bird, chirping little words that don’t mean a thing, as empty as that head of yours,” he had spat. He had snorted bitterly then, his eyes narrowed and burning. “And you can’t even look at me as you say them.”

He had been right. Sansa had barely been able to meet his gaze and been shaking like a leaf. She’d been relieved when he finally turned away from her to kneel by the dead bear and begun cutting off its white fur with the long knife he had after his belt. Without adding a word, she’d stridden away from him only seconds later.

Though the Hound’s response had been anything but forthcoming, Sansa had felt awful later on for the weak thanks she’d given him. That he terrified her and didn’t make any effort not to do so didn’t change the fact that he had saved her life. Thus a few days later, Sansa had grasped her courage and found him near the small longhouse he lived alone in. She thanked him and told him how brave he had been and this time, she forced herself to look at him straight in the eyes as she did. He’d stayed silent and expressionless at first, but when she told him she would mention him in her prayers to the gods, his reaction had been to mock her all over again, to sneer at her for being so pious and naive. He was so pitiless and mean, so tall and imposing, that Sansa almost broke down crying before him, yet she’d thankfully managed to hold back her tears until he had had enough of her and returned his attention to the logs he had been chopping.

From that time on, Sansa regularly began stumbling into him as she did her chores in and around the village. Somehow, the Hound would always be in her path. His attitude remained the same and his words were never anything other than coarse and critical, yet after a time, Sansa began wondering if those encounters were more than mere coincidences. They were too frequent not to be planned, especially considering they had barely ever crossed path before, still it wasn’t that which brought her to question his motives first and foremost. No, it was the way that, even as he told her how futile her devotion to the gods was, he would refer to her as pretty, or how though Sansa always insisted she didn’t need any help, he would carry back her buckets of hot water for her when he found her at the hot spring or the tinder she had gathered when they met in the woods.

But what got Sansa really concerned was that odd glint she saw in his eyes, sometimes. She caught him looking her up and down on more than a few occasions and he even commented on her growing body once. Sansa had been so embarrassed - the simple memory of it made her blush deeply!

After that, she grew more careful and stopped wandering away from the centre of the village on her own. Although she had not told her parents about it, for she didn’t want them to worry for her, Sansa remembered well enough the warnings they’d repeated so often to her and her sister. Any woman or maid should be careful never to be alone where no one could intervene if she didn’t want to be stolen away from her family. The Free Folk laws allowed for a man to take a wife by stealing her and while most unions didn’t start this way, especially in their tribe, taking a bride by force was perfectly legitimate and something the Elder’s Council had no power over. And so as all the girls and women of her village, Sansa had been warned ever since even before she had bled to never be by herself, for she could be claimed by any man who took a liking to her. It was a scary thought indeed.

Although Sansa was still young and innocent in many ways, she had an inkling that the Hound might be tempted to do just that to her - steal her away from the village and perhaps bring her to that hunting hut she’d heard he had, deep in the woods, nobody knew exactly where. She wasn’t sure she was right about this, but why risk it? Sansa was not a girl anymore. She had bled and was growing more womanly every day. If the Hound succeeded in kidnapping her, she would be his and no one would have any power against it. It was a scary thought. Being the Hound’s wife… He was among the fiercest warriors their clan had ever known and could certainly provide well for a wife seeing that he was a skilled hunter, but he was also such a fearsome and hateful man. And the scars he had on his face... that they were not his fault didn’t make them any less gruesome.

Sansa was lost in these thoughts, shivering against Jeyne, when she realised the Hound was staring at her. She met his gaze for a split second and gasped as he gave her the smallest of nods. Her heart hammering in her chest, she averted her eyes.

“Let's go, Jeyne,” Sansa prompted, pulling at her friend’s arm.

Jeyne nodded and they both turned away and walked towards the other side of the village.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter is done for this story! Took me a while, I’m sorry! I do hope you all enjoy this one and please, let me know if you do! :D

It was a glorious, sunny day again, the weather being just as splendid as it had been for the last fortnight. There was not a cloud in the sky or a breeze in the air and the sun was warmer than Sansa could ever have imagined possible.

Same as yesterday, nearly all of the clan had assembled in the sacred woods which stretched in-between the village and the Forest Temple. It was there that most of the important ceremonies their tribe performed took place, at the centre of a very large clearing surrounded by a dozen tall weirwood trees. Each tree had a face carved in its bark, its eyes directed toward the middle of the clearing. As for all the other weirwoods found in the Free Folk’s lands, it was said to be the Children of the Forest who had given them their features. It was thanks to them and their ancient magic if the gods could see what took place in these woods and hear the payers of those who needed their help and wisdom.

With its dozen of weirwood trees all staring towards its centre, the weirwood circle was an especially sacred place. No one could hide a thing from the gods while standing in its midst and that was what gave it its undeniable power. It was the most logical place to hold the Horned Man’s naming contest and thus they were all here today.

 _It’s there that my maidenhead’s sacrifice will be held as well,_ Sansa remembered for the hundredth time since the fighting had begun yesterday. As she had on each previous instance, she squirmed nervously in her seat, a shiver going down her spine. I’ve no need to be afraid, she reminded herself. _The gods will be watching over me, same as they are today over the contenders for the Horned Man’s title. Him who’ll be chosen will be by the gods themselves and certainly worthy of performing their will with me._

All dressed in white hide with the Summer Maid’s veil pinned over her braided hair, Sansa was installed in a high wicker chair covered with white furs. Wooden benches had been placed on each side of her for the Elders, the Priests and Priestesses of the forest Temple, as well as her family. The rest of the clan was gathered behind them in a large circle all around the centre of the clearing so that all could easily see the duels. Those in the forefront sat on fabrics and furs stretched over the floor while the others stood behind them, yet no one was placed directly before the weirwoods in order to avoid obstructing the gods’ view.

All around Sansa, the atmosphere was very festive. People were chatting and laughing, drinking spruce ale from their horns, snacking on dried whale meat and smoking wild herbs with their long pipes. The scent of the thick smoke they produced was so strong and sweet, it was almost nauseating, and as it enveloped Sansa every now and then, she would begin experiencing the herbs’ characteristic dizziness. No wonder some of those behind her were laughing so much. She wondered how anyone could smoke a whole pipe of the stuff and stiff manage to carry on a conversation.

Yet for as much as the crowd seemed disorderly, whenever a new bout started, everyone’s attention returned to the centre of the clearing. All would grow silent for a heartbeat or two, until the two men whose turns it was to see their strength measured jumped on one another. Men, women and children would shout and cheer then and not stop until the match was over. Many got pretty carried away when they saw the man they had wagered some good or another on was about to lose, but the presence of the Elders and Priests always reminded them to remain relatively composed.

As for Sansa, she had never been quieter of her life. In the high seat she was installed in, everyone only had to look up to see her and this was making her quite uncomfortable. The attention having been named Summer Maid had granted her had been exciting to begin with - that was true  enough – yet, the reality of what her election implied was rapidly starting to set in and with that, she found that she was growing more and more uneasy every day... Everyone in this clearing knew what would soon happen to her at the centre of the weirwood circle...

_..that she would be naked but for her mask and veil, that the Horned Man would worship her body as the ritual asked before claiming her in the gods’ name and delivering her maiden’s blood to them._

The notion that those around her might be picturing her doing... doing all of _that_ just now was nerve-racking and a little bit embarrassing as well to be honest. It may be a great honour to have been chosen, Sansa was too well-behaved and modest not to blush madly at the thought.

“Next!” Orog, one of the Elders, suddenly shouted from his place on the Elders’ bench.

There were movements in the press, just before Sansa at the other side of the circle of spectators, as people made way for the next two opponents. At this point, those who remained had already fought at least twice and their number was getting smaller and smaller. The oldest and weakest had been eliminated yesterday and only the true contenders remained.

The crowd parted and Sansa grew stiff as she saw the next two adversaries make their way. It was the Hound - the Hound and another man with a red beard called Meryn. Gods, if only both of them could lose...

Each stood in place and waited, facing each other, as a Priestess and a Priest lit some fresh sage in the large censers around them in order to purify the air. At their feet, the snow had turned a pale shade of red. Though no one had been gravely injured so far, it didn’t mean no blood had been shed. Tradition asked that contenders for the Horned Man title used no weapon but their bare hands. Only as thus could one’s true strength be measured and also, it prevented anyone from being seriously wounded, in principle at least. Killing each other would make no sense among tribesmen.

As for all of the previous contenders, the Hound and Meryn were bare-chested and only wore leather socks on their feet, a way to assure neither was advantaged by having put on an especially sturdy pair of boots. Sansa gazed at the two men in turn, her pulse hastening. While Meryn was undeniably muscled, he looked a mere boy next to the Hound. The latter’s shoulders were so very broad, his arms thicker than some other men’s thighs... Sansa had never even dared imagine any man could be so muscular! The Hound was not attractive in any way though: his physique may be impressive, there was something grotesque and even frightening about it and on top of that, his chest and stomach were covered with coarse, dark hair. It made her uncomfortable to look at him, especially knowing what had most likely motivated him to join in the competition.

While she knew she was not being appropriate, Sansa had spent the last two days glancing at the contestants’ chests. Never in her life had she seen so many half naked men. This winter had lasted as long as her life and so ever since she could remember, people had always worn many layers of hides and furs whenever they stepped outside of their longhouses. Sansa had only ever seen her brothers and father without their shirt on. Today didn’t feel like winter at all though. It was so hot, she didn’t even wear mittens or a hood and she had not kept her cloak completely closed since she’d stepped outside this morning.

Sansa had been surprised at first to see how strangely alike and yet different all men were under their tunic. Some were very hairy, others barely, some were skinny, others fat, some pale, others tanned... One of yesterday’s contestants had been a man old enough to be Sansa’s grandfather and his chest had been all winkled and covered with thick and long curly, white hair and his belly had been _huge_! That such a man had hoped to be her Horned Man had horrified her! Thankfully, Loras had easily immobilised him to the floor for ten seconds, as the competition’s rules demanded. It had been such a relief!

Loras, how beautiful he was – _with or without a tunic on_! There was not a hair that grew on his chest, he was as smooth as a newborn babe. Sansa longed to touch his lean muscles and see for herself how soft his skin was. Gods, how naughty she felt to have such thoughts – she was blushing madly! Yet there was no way around it: the simple memory of him was enough to send her heart racing! How she hoped he’d win... Still, she knew it was not her place to wish for any of the contenders’ success and thus she had not prayed the gods that he won even once. It was their decision to take after all, though it would certainly make a lot of sense if they chose him. He was pious, respectful of the Elders and of their people’s traditions. He was skilful in the arts of war, had all the qualities requested to be a good Horned Man!

“Oh, look, Sansa! Seems like the Hound is going to win again!” Arya exclaimed suddenly, taking Sansa out of her reverie.

Sansa had been so distracted by the thought of Loras that she had not even paid attention to the beginning of the match. It was a good thing that her sister forced her to focus. It wouldn’t have looked very good for the Summer Maid to appear disinterested in the competition.

As Arya had said, the Hound had the upper hand indeed. Both men’s torsos were covered with bruises received during their previous duels, yet the Hound had only a couple of fresh lacerations on his cheek and upper arms while Meryn’s nose was broken and bloody. Judging from how groggy the man was and from the shouts of the people all around them, the Hound had only just punched him in the face. Sansa winced. She did not like the sight of all that blood.

“Oooh!” the crowd cried as one as the Hound threw himself at Meryn. They both fell to the ground and wrestled for a few seconds, still soon enough, the Hound flipped Meryn onto his stomach and twisted his arms behind him enough to make him yelp.

“One – two – three – four...” Ogor was counting, slowly, his baritone voice loud enough to be heard over the din.

Meryn was solidly pinned to the ground, yet in a last desperate effort, he tried to struggle himself free, pain written all over his face. The Hound pushed him harder into the snow, his whole body contracting. Each muscle of his arms and back grew infinitely defined with the exertion and somehow even more impressive. In spite of herself, Sansa stared, unable to take her eyes from his freakishly huge shoulders and biceps.

 _Please, keep him down, please keep him down,_ she repeated inwardly. For as much as she didn’t want either to win, Meryn was worse than the Hound to be sure. She’d never liked him, for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on. There was something about him which made her skin crawl.

“...eight – nine - AND TEN!” Orog yelled at the top of his lungs. The match was over, the Hound had won.

All around Sansa, the audience roared. Both men stood up, but it took longer to Meryn to do so. The bout had left him in a horrible state. A scowl on his bleeding face, he spat what had all the appearance of a tooth and glowered at the crowd, before putting his back to both Orog and his opponent and limping away without a word. As for himself, the Hound was smirking with a self-satisfied air about him. He didn’t even flinch when Orog warmly grabbed him by the arm and congratulated him for yet another win, which was not like him seeing how little love he had for the Elders. It was strange to see him look so content. There was something predatory about the glint in his eyes and the way he smiled though. He looked like a man who knew he would soon be catching his prey after a long hunt. Sansa shivered.

“He won, Sansa!” Arya exclaimed, as if Sansa hadn’t seen. Jumping from her seat, she gazed up at her, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. By her side, Jon, their cousin, shrugged apologetically. He and Arya were very close and he often felt responsible for her behaviour.

“I can see it as well,” Sansa said detachedly.

She couldn’t show her - or to anyone else for that matter! - just how distressed she was. She had indeed hoped Meryn would lose, but to see the Hound be victorious once more... it was quite a lot worrying to be honest! At least, she liked the idea that the Hound was eliminating all those rivals for a more worthy contender. Because the gods would certainly never choose him as her Horned Man. It was simply impossible that it happened. He did not even believe in them for one, had given his name for all the wrong reasons! The gods certainly knew it and would make him lose sooner or later. They were probably just using him for the time being.

Orog cleared his voice and declared Sandor – the Elders were too nice to call him the Hound as everyone else did - had won the bout and with that the crowd clapped and cheered. Sansa smiled stiffly and applauded as well, as it was expected of her, but deep down she was feeling very anxious. It was then that the Hound gazed at her. Unwittingly, she met his stare, yet it was hard for her to stand it, for it was so charged and intent. It troubled her to think about what it might mean. She averted her eyes to look down at her lap, heat rising to her cheeks.

Later on around noon, just after she had eaten lunch with her parents and siblings, Sansa was helping her mother clean the knives and bowls the family had used. They were both on their knees by the creek, Mother rinsing the last knife while Sansa was drying the bowls with a piece of fabric. Looking at the water cascading joyfully before her still amazed her. Only a moon ago, there had been no creek at all in the forest and now with the snow melting so fast, it seemed as if a new one materialised every day. It was astonishing.

“Who would you like to win, mother?” Sansa asked even as she stored a bowl in their basket.

“You know it’s not for us to decide, Sansa. I’ve told you before,” her mother said, not unkindly.

Sansa had a hard time believing her mother had no preference whatsoever. She’d seen how stiffly she’d applauded anytime the Hound eliminated one more contender and the frown her mouth pulled in whenever she looked at him.

“You truly don’t mind? You’ll accept that I be scarified to anyone?”

“It’s not that I don’t care, Sansa, you’re getting it wrong. As your mother, I do always hope for the best for you, but in this situation we’re in, my preferences really don’t matter. I told you already. The gods decide. It’s not our place to disagree with them.”

“But what if someone was strong enough to defeat everyone, even though he did not believe in the importance of what we are doing here?” Sansa let out, a little too vehemently, she realised after the words had left her lips. She blushed, certain that her mother knew exactly of whom she was thinking.

Sighing deeply, the older woman sent Sansa a reproachful look. “Sansa, the very fact that you’re asking these questions is showing that you have doubts, _doubts in the gods_! You need to have faith in them. The Elders elected you as our Summer Maid and you should prove yourself worthy of the title,” she told her sternly. With that, she handed her the last knife and stood from the creek’s bank.

“I do trust in the gods...” Sansa murmured sheepishly. With her towel, she dried the knife, biting at her lower lip.

“That’s good to hear,” Mother said, wiping off snow from her skirt.

Her brows knitted, Sansa put the knife in the basket with all the others. “But... but what if the man who wins is not the one the gods had intended? What if he managed to trick them, somehow?” While she hated to disappoint Mother, Sansa felt compelled to go on. These thoughts had kept turning in her mind all day and she had to share them!

“Sansa, no one can trick the gods while standing in the weirwood circle. You know it as well as I do,” Mother stated firmly. Bending down, she seized the basket’s handle. She shook her head and sighed deeply, but when she gazed at Sansa again, her annoyance had faded. “But don’t you worry, Sansa,” she said, her voice softer now. “We all have doubts at one point or another. It’s normal to have them and I’m glad that you share yours with me. Yet the gods know what they are doing no matter that we understand it or not. You need to trust in them and pray that they allow you to see the truth.”

Sansa nodded, well aware that Mother was right. If only she could be that wise.

They both headed back towards the clearing, but they had not walked a minute that they came across Jeyne having lunch with her parents in the sun. Sansa started chatting and giggling with her friend and Mother continued on her way, telling her not to linger too much. It wouldn’t look good for the Summer Maid not to have arrived when the bouts resumed. Mother was right, thus Sansa left not so long after, before Jeyne and her family were done eating.

On her way back, Sansa heard voices coming from the other side of the creek, behind the tree line. She slowed down and pricked up her ears, curious despite herself.

“It’s good to see you be interested and taking part in the clan’s activities for once, Sandor,” an old woman was saying.

Sansa gasped and halted at once. _Sandor?_ That woman was speaking to the Hound! And judging from her voice, she was most certainly of the Elder Council, though Sansa wasn’t sure of whom it was. While she knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, doing so was stronger than her. Without thinking more of it, she silently stepped behind a large blue spruce tree nearer the creek’s bank and listened.

“Whatever your reasons, Sandor, this is excellent,” a man continued. She recognised his baritone voice as Orog’s, the Elder in charge of the matches. “You cannot remain aloof from the rest of us forever. It’s about time you get more involved and become well and truly a member of this clan. As it is, with your longhouse being at the very edge of the village, it’s almost as if you were not part of it at all sometimes. Besides, it’s too big for a man living alone. You still have no wife - at your age – no family, no friend...”

“I like being on my own,” came the Hound’s raspy voice.

Her heart in her throat, Sansa leaned further against the spruce’s trunk, her whole body shivering, until she could glimpse the scene which played at the other side of the creek. There was four Elders, two men and two women, standing in a half circle before the Hound, all so small next to him. The Hound had put a tunic on, as well as a cloak of fur and hide. Even in the distance she was at, Sansa could clearly see the angry, dark purple bruise he had under his eye.

“Some people enjoy loneliness and need more space than others,” Orog agreed, “but being part of a community is important notwithstanding and you need to find balance between the two. If you win this contest and become our new Horned Man, which I’m sure you will, then I hope it will mark the beginning of a new chapter for you.” Smiling smugly, he added: “Because I have an inkling I know why you decided to join in the competition.”

All four Elders chuckled at that. “We all do,” the other man said in a thin, shaky voice. “Eddard’s daughter, she’s very beautiful. She’s still young, but she has the potential to become an excellent wife to whoever wins her heart or manages to steal her away from her family. I can see why she would sway even a man like you to come out of his seclusion. If it’s her who convinced you to head in the right direction, than none of us Elders is going to complain. The gods find all sorts of ways to make us do their bidding.”

“Indeed,” came an old woman’s voice, and with that, the four Elders bowed their heads in respect to the old gods of the forest.

The Hound stayed silent and eyed them all in turn, his features unreadable. Still, he didn’t say a word to contradict them.

“You’ll be encouraged to court her afterwards, of course. By the Others, we’ll even insist you do so!” said Orog with a grin. “It’s a good omen for the summer to come and the clan’s prosperity that a Summer Maid and Horned Man choose one another for husband and wife. You’ll have our approval and blessing, with hope that the young lady is as easily won as this competition.”

There was laughter then and though the Hound did not share the Elders’ mirth, the corner of his mouth curled faintly and he nodded. In shock, Sansa brusquely turned her back to the spruce’s trunk, her heart hammering in her chest. Behind her, the Elders kept talking, but she couldn’t distinct their words anymore. Then less than a minute later, they all left, leaving her alone in the silence of the woods.

For what appeared like an eternity afterwards, Sansa stayed immobile against the spruce, her chest heaving. _How can this be?_ she wondered, at a lost. Though the Elders knew the Hound’s motives were anything but godly – they had said as much _themselves_! – they’d joyfully congratulated him for having given his name to be her Horned Man. And to hear them, it was as if Hound had already won the title. They had even told him they would encourage him to court her afterwards! Gods, Sansa’s knees grew weak under her at the thought. She wanted to sob. Never in a million years could she envision herself being the Hound’s wife! But the Elders apparently could. For the first time in her life, Sansa doubted their wisdom. It was a troubling notion, but how could she not after the scene she had just witnessed?

It was true what Orog had said though, that it was a good sign for the summer to come that a Summer Maid and Horned Man fell in love and united for life following the sacrifice. It was not mandatory but very well seen and common. The only problem was, the Elders had it all wrong to begin with! The gods would never, _ever_ allow the Hound to win! It was the last thing they could logically wish for!

 _Oh gods! I think I should go now,_ Sansa realised. She had stayed behind far too long, she knew it. On the verge of tears, she started running towards the clearing. Would she be late for the next duel? _Oh by the Children!_   _I should’ve left with Mother,_ she regretted as she kept sprinting.

When a few minutes later, Sansa finally rejoined the crowd, she could hardly hide how troubled she was. She slowed down, panting. People were staring at her, she noticed uneasily as she strode towards her high seat.

“Are you alright?” Father asked as he saw her arrive. He looked her up and down critically, frowning. “What happened, Sansa?”

Unsure what he meant, Sansa gazed down at herself only to realise in dismay that she had spruce sap all over her beautiful, white dress.

“Oh!” she let out, horrified. “I... I fell down... onto the ground. I’m fine. But... but, will it wash off, Mother?” she asked, gazing pleadingly at her.

“What is it?” Mother asked, approaching her. She rubbed at the sap with her palm. “Well, this is going to be hard, but it can be done.” Then, in a rough murmur, she added: “Sansa, what in the gods have you been up to? Be careful! You’re the clan’s Summer Maid, not some child playing in the forest!”

“I’m sorry, Mother!” Sansa whispered, tears pearling at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s alright. Dry those tears and get back on your seat now. The competition is about to resume. Make us proud, daughter.”

Sansa nodded and climbed back into her place. She did not want to shame her family by showing how distressed she was, no matter how much all she wanted to do was to cry in despair. She had to be brave.

 _Mother told me earlier that no one can trick the gods while standing in the weirwood circle,_ Sansa reminded herself. The Elders could be wrong – had to be - they were only human after all. In the end, it was always the will of old gods of the forest which prevailed, especially in a place as holy as this one.

The notion gave Sansa hope and when Orog announced that the matches would resume, she had faith once more that all would turn out alright... until she saw the next two contestants. Her heart dropped from the moment they stepped at the centre of the clearing. It was the Hound _... the Hound and Loras_.

 _Oh, the Others be damned!_ Sansa thought, sweat beading down the nape of her neck. She had known from the start this was likely to happen and yet now that it took place in truth, it was no less nerve-racking. Seeing the Hound and Loras stand side by side at the centre of the clearing, waiting for their duel to start, it seemed impossible that the latter would not be defeated as easily as that. The Hound was so much taller, so much broader and more muscular, had to be at least twice his weight! He was such a brute…

Still, the gods were almighty and many miracles had happened thanks to their help in their people’s history. In her youth, Sansa had heard many a story in which a young and fair hero had been underestimated because he appeared less strong and capable than his opponent. Perhaps Sansa was just about to witness one such instance and that Loras would prevail in spite of what logic suggested. And then, his exploit would become to stuff of legends! Besides, Loras was surprisingly strong despite his slender frame. His main strengths were his skill with a spear and longbow and at first, Sansa had feared that being without his weapons of choice would not play in his favour, yet so far he had triumphed to all of his matches, though his victory had sometimes been very thigh.

“Hopefully the Hound won’t break his perfect little nose like he did Meryn’s. The boy wouldn’t be as pretty afterwards. Don’t think Renly would like that very much,” a man said behind Sansa.

Laughers followed his words and Sansa frowned to herself, keeping her stare fixed before her. Why would Renly care more than any other member of their tribe if Loras was injured? They were close friends, that was true enough. When the Hound had eliminated Renly yesterday afternoon, Loras had run to his side to care for his broken finger, but that was what friends were for after all.

Fresh sage had been ignited in the censers and the Priest and Priestess who’d lit it had retrieved their seat. All that remained was for Orog to announce the start of the bout. He did and even before he had shut his mouth, Loras jumped at the Hound and punched him in the jaw.  He was fast and managed to kick him in the stomach before he could react, but it was like hitting a tree. The other man barely moved of an inch. Unfazed, he hit Loras back on the cheek, sending him reeling.

The crowd was roaring so loudly, it hurt Sansa’s ears. Her back was as straight as an arrow, her hands stiff and clutching at her skirt. As for Loras, he barely managed not to fall backward. When he stood straight again, Sansa inadvertently let out a small cry at seeing the bright red hue his cheek had taken. Loras wouldn’t be so easily defeated though. With a resolute look in his golden eyes, he attacked the Hound again, as rapid as a gust of wind. _He is so brave,_ she thought, sitting at the edge of her seat.

Yet despite his size, the Hound’s agility and speed was renowned all over the Free Folk’s lands and once more today, he proved his reputation had been well earned. He predicted Loras’ move even though his approach suggested he would aim for his head and in an eye blink, he caught him by the arm as he tried to punch him in the gut. Then effortlessly, he pulled him along with him onto the floor and they both rolled into the hard packed snow for a moment. It didn’t take very long before the Hound had the upper hand. As much as it distressed Sansa to admit it to herself, it was easy to tell who was going to win. And indeed, they had not wrestled a minute that he had Loras immobilised under him. Orog counted till ten, as slowly and steadily as always.

When Loras stood up again afterwards, he smiled, his perfect bottom lip split and bleeding, and warmly congratulated the Hound. Many bruises had appeared on his torso and arms, Sansa noticed, and he was distractedly rubbing one on his shoulder. “You deserve this win. There is no shame in losing against an adversary as worthy as you. Good luck for the remaining of the competition,” he said loudly enough for all to hear.

The Hound nodded curtly and grunted his thanks, eying him warily.

Then, Loras bowed respectfully to Sansa and the Elders and headed away to rejoin Renly a little further at the back of the press.

Sansa watched him go, her heart sinking. _Oh gods, the Elders are right. The Hound is going to win this competition,_ she mused in distress after Loras had disappeared from her sight. There was no denying it anymore: there would be no miracle. Sansa wanted to cry, could feel tears threatening to well in her eyes. She fought against it, remembering her mother’s words. _Make us proud, daughter,_ she had said. And thus instead of sobbing as every fibre of her being commanded her, Sansa applauded and smiled as radiantly as she could. She was the Summer Maid, after all, not a weeping little girl…

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg! It's been 4 months already since I updated this one! I'm so sorry! I hope you enjoy it though!

Sansa woke up with a start, sitting up in her bunk.  _ What strange dreams I had, _ she mused, utterly confused. Catching her breath, she looked around herself. It was still dark and very quiet in her family’s longhouse. All she could hear was her father’s faint snores coming from the other end of the house. Still, from the sparse yet telltale noises which came from outside, she could tell the forest was slowly rising and that dawn was about to break.

Sansa had not slept very well. All night, she had kept tossing and turning in her bed and made the oddest of dreams. She didn’t remember most of them, or only vaguely... Apart from the last one she’d had, the one she’s just awakened from. That one was still exceedingly clear in her mind, troublingly so in fact. 

In it, she’d been chased through a dark and forbidding forest by a big black dog, but then the dog morphed into a white bear and jumped on her. She could still taste the terror that had assailed her at that instant, same as if the attack had only just happened in truth. When she tried to struggle herself free by turning on her back in hope to push the white bear away from her, she realised it was the Hound, that he was bare-chested... that she was naked. And instead of trying to eat her alive as she had feared the animal would, he was touching her everywhere. She was nude too, she’d noticed then, and the shock of it instantly brought her back to the real world. Now sitting on her bunk, she didn’t know what to make of that dream, nor of the sweat which still permeated her brow, of the strange warmth that lingered down her core...

_ Gods, how very bizarre _ , she thought, massaging her temples. Hoping to rest some more, Sansa lied down on her bunk again. She shut her eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but her efforts were fruitless. She was too preoccupied. Because in the end the truth was, she knew very well where all those dreams had arisen from. It was quite obvious in fact.

Yesterday’s events were written all over these images which haunted her. It all made very much sense. Sansa felt a bit like a tracked animal, a prey the Hound had his sight on. He was intent on winning the competition and be the man who would take her maidenhead. His determination was undeniable and that he’d allow nothing to stop him from getting to his goal was obvious. Still, the Hound had not won yet. Today, he would fight against his last remaining adversary: Arys Oakheart.

_ There is still hope _ , Sansa mused. Arys could very well defeat the Hound – if anyone could, it was him. He was a stalwart, tall and very apt warrior as he had once more proved during his duels of the previous few days. If it had to come to that, he was definitely a much more preferable Horned Man than the Hound. Arys was good-looking and well liked by all, which couldn’t be said of his adversary, but most importantly, he was devout and believed in the significance of the upcoming ceremony.

Yet truth be told, Sansa had a hard time believing he really held a chance against the Hound. Arys may be strong and skilled, he didn’t have the other man’s freakish built and the same fury in battle. For as much as she tried, she couldn’t envision anyone defeating the Hound. Somehow, she could sense any hope was worthless.

To make matters worse, Sansa was still troubled by the conversation she had overheard between a few Elders and the Hound yesterday after lunch. She had been shocked by what they had said. To hear them, the Hound had already won - they were all but congratulating him! They’d seemed genuinely delighted at the perspective of him being her Horned Man. That he didn’t believe in the gods had not mattered to them and his well known contempt of their traditions and ceremonies had not so much as been mentioned. Worst of all, they already envisioned Sansa becoming his wife, as if her own opinion on the matter didn’t even matter...  _ Oh, gods... _

After a half-hour of staring at the bottom of her sister’s bunk above her, thinking of all that had transpired throughout the last few days and of what was still to come, Sansa finally came to term with the fact that she wouldn’t fall back asleep. Sighing, she got out of bed and looked around herself. She easily found one of her dress by her bed, a loose one made of beige hide, and put it over the fine wool slip she wore. Then she fastened her white fur cloak over her shoulders, slipped into her boots and stepped outside. 

From how dim it had been in her family’s longhouse, Sansa would never have guessed the sun had already risen over the horizon, yet dawn was well and truly there. The few clouds which hovered in the sky went from dark purple to pink and then, to the brightest of oranges, and the shadows of the trees and longhouses stretched forever on the snowy ground. The village was very quiet still, but here and there, noises could be heard: a child’s cry, the voices of people speaking softly, the clatter of a cauldron being installed on an open fire. Chicken were clucking, a pig oinked. It wouldn’t be so long before the place was full of life and boisterous as it always was during daytime. 

Sansa walked away from the village and the chances she’d have of bumping into someone. She didn’t feel like speaking to anyone, only needed to breathe some fresh air and clear her mind. Thus she strolled aimlessly between the tall trees without paying attention to where she was going. With a distracted ear, she listened to the repetitive sounds of wood being chopped as it echoed through the forest, her gaze lowered to the snow track she followed. 

Oddly, it didn’t dawn on her that she was walking towards the Hound’s longhouse until she caught sight of him, standing at less than ten yards from her. He was swinging down his axe to cleave a log in two, his back to Sansa, yet she recognised him from the moment she raised her gaze on him. It’d have been impossible not to. Gasping, she halted at once.

Alerted by the sound, the Hound’s broad shoulders tensed and he jerked his head backward. His face was twisted in a mean scowl, but a spark of surprise passed through his eyes as they fell on her. “The Summer Maid? What are you doing here? Came to wish me good luck for the last duel **,** perhaps?” he rasped, his lips pulling in a smirk. 

_ Gods, what have I gotten myself into! _ Sansa thought, her heart jumping in her chest. Somehow, she had managed to find her way to exactly the last place she’d have wanted to be right now. “I’m s... sorry,” she stammered, averting her eyes from him. “I didn’t realise I was walking towards your house. I better get back now.” With that, she made to turn and stride away, yet in her hurry, she caught her feet in some harder bit of icy snow and fell onto her stomach.

The impact stunned her for a few seconds, though it didn’t hurt as much as she had feared. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Hound toss his axe to the ground and swiftly head towards her.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

Helping herself with her hands, Sansa rolled onto her back and propped herself on her elbows. She had not put on her mittens and her fingers were freezing now, wet with melted snow. “I’m fine,” she said meekly, colour rising to her cheeks. Gods, this was all so embarrassing!

The Hound halted just in front of her and snorted a rough laugh. “Good, wouldn’t look well for the Summer Maid to have a broken leg during her sacrifice.”

Sansa blushed all the more and lowered her gaze to her lap. Why did he have to refer to the ceremony just now that she was alone with him, sprawled on the ground and vulnerable? They both knew he would very likely win the Horned Man title, wasn’t that enough for him? Sansa didn’t utter a word and only looked down, wishing she could vanish into nothingness. 

“Come, don’t stay there all day or you’ll catch a cold,” the Hound urged her, bending down and offering her his hand. 

Sansa gazed at it uncertainly. It was so huge, same as the rest of him. The Hound always towered over her, but now that she was all but lying on the ground, he seemed taller than ever. Her stare darted to his bare chest. It was so muscular, as hard as steel, and covered with coarse dark hair. There was sweat on his skin even though the air was far from warm at this early hour. She wondered how it was possible that he not be shivering in this weather.

“I’m more dressed than you are, you’re the one who’s risking a cold,” she said, regretting the words from the moment they left her lips. 

Judging by the roguish grin that split the Hound’s face, her cheeky comment had amused him. “I’m made of sterner stuff than a little bird like you. No need worrying for me. Come on, now,” he insisted, finding her hand with his.

Sansa didn’t fight him and accepted his help. His hand engulfed hers, so warm and strong, and he pulled her to her feet. It was unsettling to think that those same hands would perhaps caress her everywhere very soon, yet she chased the thought from the moment it crossed her mind, her face ablaze.

“Your hand’s cold,” the Hound commented once she stood up, squeezing it gently within his fist.

“I know,” Sansa whispered nervously, wresting it free. “I should go now.”

She made to turn but he caught her by the wrist before she had a chance to. “Not so fast,” he said.

Her eyes wide, Sansa looked up at him, taken aback. His stare was fixed on her intently and she suddenly grew very aware of just how very alone they were. She tensed, fear rising in her, and glanced behind herself. There was no one at all in sight, only snow and trees. They might as well have been in the middle of the forest and not at the edge of the village. If he felt like it, the Hound could overpower her and steal her away as easily as that and no one would hear her screams. No one would notice her disappearance until it was too late.  _ Oh gods, what have I done? _ Sansa wondered, her pulse resounding in her ears. She had promised herself never to venture alone away from the village again after that last time she’d found herself alone with him. 

It had happened many moons ago by the hot spring. She had been washing her face and hands in the warm water on her own when she heard the Hound make some disobliging comment from behind her. They started talking and at one point, much alike now, he had approached her suddenly and seized her by the upper arm. For a few horrible seconds, Sansa had been certain he would try to take her away and make her his. Yet thankfully before it could happen, a group of young men had arrived by the spring. She had fled towards the village nearly as soon. Sansa had no hope that she’d be so lucky this morning. Why would anyone venture near the Hound’s longhouse, especially at this early hour?

Her fear must have shown on her face, for the Hound expression darkened. “What are you so afraid of?” he hissed, heavy brows lowering over his eyes.

Sansa was too stunned to reply but as always, he could read her easily enough.

His mouth twitched and he brusquely released her wrist. “You’re safe, little bird, don’t you worry. I’m not going to do anything crazy. I’ve not gone through all this trouble not to see this thing through.”

“This thing?” Sansa repeated, unsure she understood his meaning.

“The bloody contest, what do you think?” He snorted then, a faint, wry smile curving his lips. “The Horned Man, who do you think it’ll to be?  _ Me _ ...? What do you say, little bird?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa replied, looking down uneasily. “How could I? It’s in the gods’ hands.”

“Of course,” the Hound sneered. “Well then, whish me good luck before you leave. Or even better, why don’t you sing a pretty little prayer to the gods for me? Those bastards are sure to heed the Summer Maid’s prayers.”

That annoyed Sansa. He could make fun of her all he wanted, but being as disrespectful to the gods as to call them names was totally unacceptable. Frowning, Sansa gazed up at him again, the sternness of her features taking him off guards.

“A good Summer Maid is not supposed to pray for the contest’s outcome,” she stated honestly. “I won’t pray for you, same as I won’t for Arys and have not for any of the other contestants! The gods will decide who the winner is and it’s not my place to interfere.”

For a short instant, Sansa wondered if she had not managed to shut him off for the very first time, yet the Hound’s surprise quickly gave way to derision. He exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes. 

“How very fair of you,” he rasped, shaking his head. 

His large paw rose to scratch his chest and Sansa glanced down at it furtively, her gaze attracted by the motion.

“Still, think I’ll believe you don’t care? I’ve seen how ashen those rosy cheeks of yours turned when I eliminated Loras yesterday.” The Hound’s stare travelled down her face, silence stretching between them for a moment. “Well whatever you think, better me than him,” he added lowly. “Your gods, they don’t want their Horned Man to be pretty. Doesn’t matter to them. What they care about, is that he be strong, the strongest man of the clan. I am, no one can deny that, even you.”

Sansa kept her eyes lowered and didn’t utter a word. She didn’t want to lie.

The Hound appeared satisfied with her lack of answer, for he snorted softly and resumed speaking. “You cannot blame me for the outcome of this contest. It’s not like I’ve any choice in the matter either,” he said, his imposing form leaning over her. “What is a man to do against the gods’ will after all? I’m just doing their bidding, same as you.”

“The gods’ will? But you don’t even believe in them!” Sansa let out in shock, her gaze darting up to him.

Her affront brought a smirk to his lips. “Well, you do, so how is that supposed to matter to you? I could be part of their plan - that I believe in them or not shouldn’t change that.”

Sansa took a step back, eager to put some space between them, and folded her arms over her chest. A shiver went down her spine. Clouds had gotten over the rising sun, casting the forest in shadows, and she was cold she realised. “The gods would never want someone like you, who has no respect for the sacred, to represent them in such a holy ceremony. It’s impossible.”

“So how do you explain that I’m winning?” the Hound asked, straightening his back.

Sansa hesitated. “Perhaps you’re cheating, somehow...”

He laughed with genuine mirth and for a brief instant, he looked much younger than he ever had in Sansa’s eyes. That brought her to wonder just how old he could be exactly.

“You’re giving me a lot of credit – and very little to those old, mighty gods of yours. I’m just a bloody man. How by the buggering Others am I supposed to trick those glorious gods of yours?”

He had a point, yet Sansa was not about to admit it. “The competition is not over yet. Perhaps you’ll lose to Arys.”

The Hound raised his good eyebrow. “That may be, who’s to say? But I wouldn’t set my hopes too high if I were you. Arys, I’ve fought him before. He’s a capable warrior, but not so much as me. I’m confident I’ll eliminate him, as I did all those other buggers before him.”

“You could be wrong.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged, as if to say it didn’t matter to him, yet Sansa had a hard time believing that. “Anything’s possible. Still chances are, I’m right about this.” Features hardening, he narrowed his eyes at her. “What will you do then, if I win? Go cry to the Elders and try to convince them the gods have made a mistake, that I was not meant to be the Horned Man?”

“Of course not! I believe in the gods’ wisdom. I... I was wrong to say you may trick them,” Sansa admitted reluctantly. “If you win, I’ll have no choice but to accept it as their will and go along with what is expected of me.”

“No choice,” he repeated, a hint of bitterness to his gravelly voice. His face set in that so very intimidating scowl he almost always sported. “I thought being chosen as the Summer Maid was a great honour. Doesn’t sound like it to hear you speak.”

His remark shamed Sansa. While she knew very well that he was just twisting this whole situation to his advantage, in the end, he did speak the truth. Taking on the Summer Maid’s role was an incredible chance very few young girls ever got, not some chore to execute with a heavy heart. 

Unable to look him in the eyes anymore, Sansa lowered her gaze sheepishly. “It  _ is _ a great honour indeed, I just didn’t choose my words correctly. I’m sorry for that, if it offended you. I just meant that the outcome is not for me to decide, but I will gladly follow the gods’ will.”

The Hound’s eyes grew wider and he stared at her for a few seconds, tilting his head to the side. “ _ Gladly _ ? Will you really?” he asked, his lips curving in the smallest of smiles.

Sansa glanced up at his face, her cheeks burning. He was mocking her again, she knew it very well, yet what else was she to answer but the truth? “As any good Summer Maid ought to. I’ll do as I need to please the gods,” she murmured.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” the Hound said lowly. His smile broadening, he lowered his eyes on her body, his gaze unhurriedly trailing down her curves. 

“I really should go now,” Sansa breathed, closing her cloak more tightly around herself. Her legs shaking under her, she turned around and walked away before he could add another word.

The Hound didn’t try to stop her this time around. “Be careful and watch your steps, little bird,” she heard him rasp as she strode towards the village. “We’ll see each other in a few hours.”

Sansa didn’t reply nor looked back, yet she nodded and did as he bade her. She didn’t want to fall down again, especially for as long as she was in his sight. One time was humiliating enough in one day.

She was shivering and troubled when she arrived back in the village. Thankfully, no one noticed she was coming from the Hound’s longhouse. Still, that didn’t save her from being scolded by her mother as she stepped in her view.

“Where by the Children have you been, Sansa? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” the woman exclaimed, worry lines creasing her brow. She had been standing in the threshold of their family’s longhouse in her nightgown and hurried in her direction from the instant she spotted her. “We need to get you ready! The Summer Maid cannot be late for the bouts!” she reminded her sternly.

Sansa apologised and entered the longhouse with her mother and with her help, she immediately began getting ready for the last duel of the competition. 

As Mother brushed her long auburn hair, Bran, Arya and Rickon ran and laughed around them.

“Out!” Mother ordered after Rickon bumped into her and almost made her fall down. “This is no place to play, especially today!”

Sansa’s younger brothers and sister knew better than to speak back or disobey mother when she used  _ that _ voice. In less than a second, they were all out and the longhouse was as silent as a tomb. 

It was easier to think now without their incessant chatter, but was it really desirable to do so? Sansa wasn’t sure. In the end, she’d have probably preferred not to have to muse back on her conversation with the Hound. But it was no good. It kept replaying in her mind, over and over again.

No matter how much she’d have rather it not be so, she knew he was right. He would win. And he’d been right on more than that. The gods couldn’t be tricked - Mother had said as much herself. And the gods, well they did ask that a Horned always be the strongest man of the clan. It was the whole point of the competition in fact, to determine who it was.

Thus in order that the gods be appeased and grant the land and people who inhabited it the summer they craved... it probably, really... really needed to be  _ him _ . 

Sansa sighed deeply. Had he not given his name, it might actually have been a problem. Indeed, how would the gods react if she was sacrificed only to the second strongest man of their clan? False springs had been known to be triggered for lesser affronts.

And yet those revelations didn’t make the prospect of being taken by the Hound any less frightening.  _ All will be fine _ , she assured herself, shutting her eyes and breathing in deeply. 

Mother was pinning the Summer Maid’s white veil over her hair, Sansa realised. She gulped.  _ Oh, gods! Already? _

“You’re all set now. You should eat something while I dress,” the older woman said, before heading for the other end of the longhouse where hers and Father’s quarters were. 

Sansa nodded, resigned, and grabbed some of the fried bread there was left on the table. It was a bit dry, but it did her some good anyhow.

Shorts minutes later, the whole family all headed to the weirwood circle. The place was already crowded when they arrived and people saluted Sansa respectfully. It was still strange to her; she was not accustomed to being so highly regarded. Thus far, she had only been the daughter of a respected couple, a mere child. People had never given her any true attention. But this would be her life from now on. Summer Maids retained an aura of respectability throughout their lives. 

The last bout was about to begin. Robb helped Sansa up her high seat and took place not far from her with the rest of their family. As the crowd grew somewhat hushed, waiting for the duel to begin, Bran and Arya started bickering loudly enough that Father had to silence them with a severe stare. They thankfully obeyed at once, for they knew they would hear of it later on otherwise. 

“Attention to all!” Orog’s deep voice resounded in the clearing. He was standing near the Elders’ bench, a contented grin on his old, winkled face. “The last duel, the one which will give us our new Horned Man, will soon begin. Let’s all pray the old gods of the forest that him who wins is to their taste and that by the Summer Maid’s sacrifice, we be granted that long and fruitful summer we all have been praying for.”

Everyone cheered and clapped, the hubbub only growing louder as both Arys and the Hound appeared at the edge of the clearing. Each man took place at the centre of the weirwood circle, facing each other. They were stretching to warm up even as the priests and priestesses walked around them with their censers filled with burning sage. The scent was agreeable, calming - Sansa had always thought so – yet this morning, it did little to sooth her nerves. Her palms were so clammy and her heart was fluttering like a caged bird. The anticipation was unbearable!

As she waited for Orog to announce the beginning of the duel, Sansa studied the two men that stood before her. Arys was very handsome and while he was not as imposing as the Hound, he was nonetheless tall and very muscular.  _ Perhaps the Hound was wrong after all and that he’ll lose to Arys, _ she mused. Surprisingly, the thought didn’t cheer her up as she’d have expected.  _ It’s because I don’t really believe in it, _ Sansa concluded. She knew very well no one could withstand the Hound, so what use was there in hoping?  _ Besides, what would it change? We’ll just be symbols, me and the Horned Man, nothing more. _

“Let the last duel begin!” Orog exclaimed at last.

From the get go, the confrontation was brutal. As always, the Hound was as solid as a tree and the blows he gave were powerful enough that they might have killed Sansa had she been on the receiving end. Yet Arys was much sturdier than her and nearly as violent as his adversary. He was adapting his style to the Hound’s, Sansa realised, for she had never seen him fight with such ferocity.

The crowd was shouting and cheering as one each time a punch or kick was successfully delivered. As the Hound grabbed Arys by the shoulder, voices of men urging him to shove him into the hard packed snow could be heard booming through the press. The Hound didn’t disappoint and pushed his opponent so brusquely, the man was sent reeling. Surprisingly though, just as he appeared to be about to collapse to the ground, Arys miraculously managed to stay on his feet. Then in the blink of an eye, he was on the Hound, delivering an unexpectedly strong punch to his face. The later had not expected the attack and did not have time to protect himself. He staggered backward, the view of his bloodied nose making the crowd roar.

_ Oh, gods! _ Sansa thought, gasping. Was his nose broken? It was bleeding profusely! Unlike her fellow tribesmen, she hated the sight of blood!

Arys didn’t waste the advantage the blow had given him and at once threw himself on his opponent. They both fell to the ground, the Hound on his side with Arys over him, keeping his arm twisted behind his back.

_ He’s going to win, _ Sansa thought, her eyes wide in disbelief and mouth slighting opened. She was totally baffled, felt a bit numb even though her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. 

But then, as all hopes seemed lost for the Hound, the man literally hurled Arys from him with such force, he was projected nearly a yard away. The impact was brutal and the Hound made the most of it by immediately slugging Arys on the jaw a couple of times before pressing him hard into the snow. With all of the huge man’s heavy weight sunk into him, Arys could barely move anymore. All he could manage was to struggle pitifully.

“One... two... three... four...” was shouting Orog.

The tribesmen had grown nearly silent now, all eyes on Arys as he vainly fought to free himself from the Hound.

“...Five... six... seven... eight...”

Sansa was sitting at the edge of her seat and fixing the scene with her stare, her pulse beating so loudly in her ears, it was nearly all she could hear.

“...nine...  _ and ten _ !”

The crowd roared, though no one seemed all that surprised by the last duel’s result. The Elders seemed content, so as the priests and priestesses, and they all nodded approvingly as they exchanged words Sansa couldn’t hear. As for the Hound, he was ecstatic. A large grin on his lips, he let go of a defeated Arys and stood up. His smile looked out of place with all the blood he had on his face. There was something feral about his expression though, a wild glint in his eyes which made it impossible for Sansa to look directly at him. She feared meeting his gaze.

_ It’s going to be him...The Hound will be my Horned Man, _ she mused, biting at her lip. 

Out the corner of her eye, she vaguely noticed the look on her sister’s face. It was one of disgust, yet when they locked eyes for a short instant, she grinned mischievously at her. She must be delighted, thinking Sansa was distraught. By Arya’s side, the rest of the family was applauding quietly, none of them smiling. 

Sansa looked away, ill at ease. She was so confused. It was unexpected, but unlike Arya clearly assumed, she felt... what?  _ Relieved _ ? Yes, that was it though the feeling had naught to do with the Hound’s victory. She didn’t care one bit about him and would have dutifully accepted any winner anyway, as any good Summer Maid ought to. No, it was simply that uncertainty had been nerve-racking. At least now that she knew for sure who’d be her Horned Man, she had a better idea of what was to come and could start preparing mentally for it. 

_ But will I ever be ready for this? _ It seemed impossible that she ever be anything but scared to death at the thought of performing her part of the ritual sacrifice. And yet, it would be coming very soon. In only a week’s time… 

Sansa breathed in deeply, her previous brief moment of calm all but gone.  _ The gods will grant me the courage I need, _ she tried to convince herself. She would need all the strength they could lend her and badly at that... 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A new chapter for this story! I hope you all enjoy! :)

Following the last duel of the competition, everything went really fast for Sansa. The name of the new Horned Man had not been known for more than a couple of hours that a group of priestesses was already knocking at the door of her family’s longhouse.

“We’re here to take the young Summer Maid to the Forest Temple,” they announced. They were all dressed in the same woollen grey robe both the priests and priestesses wore, their long hair braided and cowl up.

Sansa had known they would come. It was tradition that the Summer Maid stayed at the Temple for the week that preceded the ceremony so that she be prepared for the sacrifice. Still, she had not expected it to happen so soon. She barely got time to say goodbye to her family and was not permitted to bring anything with her apart from the clothes on her back.

“Be a good girl and obey the priestesses,” Mother bade her with tears in her eyes.

Nodding, Sansa hugged both of her parents. Then, she kissed all of her siblings – even Arya, who didn’t try to push her away for once. Somehow, that made it all the harder and she left them all with a heavy heart and a tight throat.

While Sansa was as distraught as if she was never to see any of them again, she reminded herself of the great honour that was bestowed on her as she walked towards the Forest Temple surrounded by the priestesses. No one was allowed inside the Temple apart from the priest, priestesses, Elders and a handful of lucky few. A handful of lucky few among which were the Summer Maid… the Summer Maid and the Horned Man.

The Forest Temple was a very large and tall one storey building, erected from wood with large stone for its foundation. Sansa was amazed when she entered the inner courtyard. It was a beautiful place, a garden where herbs and plants of all sorts were said to be cultivated during the summer. Most of the snow had been shovelled out, so much so that Sansa could see earth’s dark colour all around the conifers, leafless trees and shrubs which filled the place.

“If your sacrifice goes well and that spring comes indeed as we hope, soon this place will be filled with hundreds of flowers and plants,” Nila, the head priestess told her as she showed her around. She was a tall and graceful woman, still very beautiful in spite of being probably in her late fifties.

“How wonderful,” Sansa said, trying not to let the pressure which had been implied in the priestess’ words get to her. Everything would go well, she knew it. It had to!

Once Sansa had visited the whole garden, she was made to wait on a bench in the sun. One of the younger priestesses was sitting with her and telling her all about the many healing potions they could brew with the different cedar they kept. Sansa was doing her best to listen, but it was hard. She was so nervous, kept wringing her hands and biting at her lip. The unknown of the situation was more nerve-racking than exciting.

Just as the priestess was about to make Sansa taste a small piece of a very special cone that grew from a rare variety of spruce, the great wooden door of the courtyard opened. Both the priestess and Sansa jerked their head to look in the entrance’s direction and see the Hound step in flanked by two priests.

Sansa stiffened from the moment she set eyes on him. He seemed like a giant next to the priests, but that was naught new with the Hound. His broken nose had been set back in place, Sansa noticed, and though it was a bit swollen and that there was an angry red scar crisscrossing its bridge, it would apparently not suffer any permanent damage. It was a good thing for the Hound seeing that his face was already so horribly scarred. He was ugly enough as it was and now, with the bruises and lacerations he had on his chin and cheeks, he truly was a frightful sight to behold.

The Hound was wearing worn-out dun leather garbs and had his old fur and hide cloak loosely fastened over his shoulders.  His stare was fixed on Sansa, had been ever since he entered, and as he and the priests walked toward her, she started fearing that he would do as he always did and push her into a corner to tease her meanly - no matter that they were in this holy Temple! Yet before that could happen, Nila, the head priestess, walked between them. The rest of the priests and priestesses all approached as well and took place in a circle around them.

“Congratulation to both of you,” the woman started. “You’ve both won two of the most esteemed and coveted titles our people have. Soon you’ll be re-enacting a ritual which is as old as time and exceedingly sacred. I hope you both are grateful for the honour and that you will play your parts to the gods’ satisfaction,” the woman started, a benevolent smile on her lips.

Sansa lowered her face respectfully at that, but the Hound only kept his stare pinned on Nila in silence, waiting for her to continue.

“As you already know, you’ll each be staying here for the upcoming week as we prepare you for the ceremony. However, we’ll be keeping you apart, so this is the last time you see each other until then. It’s ill luck for the Summer Maid and Horned Man to spend time together before the sacrifice has taken place.”

Sansa had heard as much herself. While the priestess didn’t elaborate on the matter, it was well known there were also other reasons for this separation. The Summer Maid’s purity needed to be safeguarded.

Before Sansa’s naming was made public, Nila had examined her to make sure she was well and truly a maiden, for that blood be spilled during the sacrifice was crucial. It had been so embarrassing, but the woman had been very kind and gentle at least. Sansa would be examined again later today, just in case something had happened since then, and she was not looking forward to it at all.

It was said that in the past long ago, a Horned Man and Summer Maid had not been able to wait until the ceremony to consume the ardent passion they had for one another. Unbeknown to the priests and priestesses, they performed their duty in advance under the Forest Temple’s very roof. Their careless actions enraged the gods and caused winter to start all over again. Spring did not come for another two years after that and many died in consequence. The priests and priestesses learned their lesson from such harsh punishment and ever since, the Summer Maid and Horned Man were kept apart in order to avoid such catastrophe to happen again.

 _Small chance of that with me,_ Sansa thought as she glanced at the Hound huge form. The mere thought of what would transpire between them in a week was enough to send her heart racing. Lying with him was not something she was looking forward to at all! It scared her to death… The priests and priestess needed not worry where she was concerned.  

“You’ll both be shown to your chambers now. You may say goodbye to one another. When next you’ll see each other, it will be in the weirwood circle.”

“Goodbye,” Sansa whispered, gazing timidly at the Hound.

The man smirked at her. “See you at the sacrifice, little bird,” he rasped.

After that, they were each led to different parts of the Temple. Once Sansa’s maidenhood was verified to the head priestess’ satisfaction, she was brought to the room she would sleep in until the ceremony. The place was Spartan but comfortable enough. There was a small pallet, a night table and a window.

Being in a building completely built of wood was so strange when Sansa was used to longhouses mostly made of bark. During her first night at the Temple, she stared at the ceiling and barely slept at all. She felt lonely, isolated in her little chamber as she was. The silence was oppressing. Sansa was surprised to realise that she missed the sound of her siblings and parents sleeping around her.

 _Only a week and this will be all over,_ Sansa mused. But it wasn’t true, she remembered. She would have to return to the Forest Temple after the ceremony. Custom asked that the Summer Maid stayed with the priestesses for three whole moons following the sacrifice of her maidenhead. Sansa almost began sobbing at the recollection. She would be allowed to see her parents once her duty was performed, yet that was small consolation to her at the time being. She was so nervous. Was the Hound nervous at all? She doubted it, couldn’t imagine he ever was. It was odd to think that he was perhaps in a chamber much like her own, starting at the ceiling just as she did. _He’s probably sleeping and I would do well to do the same,_ Sansa decided, shutting her eyes.

****

Throughout the following days, Sansa’s system was purified through a myriad of ways. First, she was made to fast for two whole days during which she only drunk honeyed water. By the end of the fast, she felt as if she was about to faint at every minute for as much as she was starving. Afterwards, she was allowed to resume eating, but was only fed small portions of clams with seaweed and a whole lot of herbal tea. Clams were said to increase one’s carnal appetite, the head priestess informed her one day as she was eating her meal. These were thus a most appropriate and beneficial food for both the Summer Maid and Horned Man. Sansa wondered if it would work with her. Hours and days passed and she didn’t feel any different.  

Every day, Sansa spent a few hours in and out of a special tent in which water was poured over burning stones every few minutes so as to fill the space with steam. The priestesses insisted that she stayed inside of it until she could barely bear the heat anymore and from the moment she was allowed out, she had to submerge her whole body in a bath filled with water and ice for a whole excruciating minute. Surprisingly enough, after a few try, Sansa started enjoying the process. It was said to strengthen the body by ridding it of bad spirits and it was easy to believe it worked indeed.

Also, each afternoon, the head priestess sat with her in the Temple’s garden and described in great detail all that would be expected of her during the ceremony. She taught her about the acts she would perform and explained to her their purpose and meaning to their gods. Being aware of it all was nerve-racking and Sansa wondered many times if she would not have preferred to remain blissfully ignorant. But this was foolish. A good Summer Maid needed to know her role to the letter in order to act it out to perfection. Nevertheless, there was no escaping the fact that the prospect of it terrified her. That she knew by heart all that would transpire between her and the Horned Man didn’t change the reality that it would be her first time doing any of those things. Worse, there would be people watching. And it would be with the Hound...

****

Inevitably one morning, Sansa woke up knowing the ceremonial sacrifice would take place at the break of dawn on the following day. She barely had any appetite, which was good seeing that she wasn’t allowed a lot of food anyway. Still, even eating the few clams she was given for lunch was a struggle. After having meditated for a couple of hours, Sansa went into the steam tent for a while and then, the basin of cold water. Later on the head priestess questioned her at length about the ceremonial sacrifice’s sequence. She was led to her bed very early in the evening, fully aware sleep would be short.

And indeed, long before the hour of the wolf, she was woken up by a group of priestesses. Her preparation for the ceremony itself would now begin. Sansa was shivering as she walked to the large bath the priestesses had prepared for her. She was cleaned in perfumed water and scrubbed until her skin was pink. Then, she was given a big mug of herbal tea brewed from very special mushrooms and herbs. The mushrooms would help her commune with the gods and the herbs warm her blood, or so the priestesses said. They told her that the Horned Man would be given some as well, that it would help him last longer. The mere notion of what they meant by it made Sansa blush deeply. Oh gods... and she was just about to be deflowered by him!

The Summer Maid veil was fixed over her half loose hair and the mask she would wear was taken out of a small cedar chest. It covered most of her face, but left her lips and chin free. There were two large holes for her eyes and it was secured with a long band tied behind her head. The mask was made of bleached hide and adorned with snow white feathers and perfectly formed for her features. Apart from it, Sansa would be completely nude during the ceremony, yet for the time being, she was given her fur cloak and a pair of loose boots.

It was still fully dark when Sansa stepped out of the Temple. As she walked towards the weirwood circle with the priestesses, she suddenly started feeling very strange, like she was floating instead of walking. The colours became incredibly bright in spite of it still being night and the sounds of the forest grew alien to her ears. The priestesses assured her that it was normal, that she needed not be fearful, but Sansa was afraid nonetheless. Far away, the beating of a drum began resounding rhythmically, calling the Summer Maid and Horned Man to their duty.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long wait! This has been a true struggle. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I'll be posting chapter 6 and the epilogue at once. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed. :)

The forest had never seemed so odd to Sansa, so alien and foreboding. It was as if she’d never been here before for as much as she didn’t recognise a thing and yet, she had walked the path she followed hundreds and hundreds of times throughout her life. All around her, shadows danced under the tall trees and everything was shrouded in darkness. She could hear whispers coming from nowhere, the sound soft, repetitive and holding no meaning. It was as if the air itself tried to speak to her, or perhaps was it the old gods of the forest wishing to reveal some ancient secret to her before she sacrificed her purity to them? Sansa kept looking from one side to the other, always certain there would be someone murmuring to her ear when she gazed behind herself but she never saw anything other than the closed lips priestesses that surrounded her. 

Walking had gotten difficult, for Sansa’s legs were becoming increasingly limp and clumsy. On each side of her, a priestess held her by the arm, keeping her from tripping as they guided her to the weirwood circle. Their pace was dictated by the drum’s cadence, a slow yet steady stroll. From where they were, they could hear it well enough and it grew louder with each step they took towards the clearing, it’s beating a constant reminder of what was to come. Sansa shivered at the thought of it in spite of the heat.  _ This is so strange, _ she mused. It was still very early, almost night time, and yet she had never been so hot of her life. Sansa was sweating under her fur cloak even though she was completely nude under it. But it was not the weather’s fault, otherwise the snow would be melting faster. The warmth that afflicted her came from the very dept of her body. It was as if her core was a powerful ball of fire radiating through every part of her.

Soon, Sansa glanced the shape of the altar which had been brought to the centre of the weirwood circle. It was grandiose in its simplicity, very large and bulky though no more than three feet high and built from the large branches of a weirwood tree with mysterious inscriptions carved over each of its sides. Sansa had seen it once during the previous week when Nila, the head priestess, showed it to her in order that she be better prepared for her sacrifice. Thus she knew it to be as white as milk even though in the dimness of the predawn, it might as well have been grey. Everything seemed grey in this light...

As the priestesses led her to the altar, Sansa felt like an animal being brought to the butcher’s block. The truth wasn’t that far either: her blood would be spilled this morning. There were movements further away behind the weirwood trees, she noticed as she passed them by, dark shapes and murmurs. A distant part of her knew these were people of her tribe come to worship in the distance, yet all she could think of at that moment was that spirits had gathered to watch over her sacrifice. Or perhaps were these Children of the Forest? Sansa peered behind the weirwood trees, unable to discern anything that made sense.

A white fur had been thrown on the altar, Sansa noted as she got nearer. Soon, the priestesses halted before it, their hold on her forcing her to do as much. They released her arms and didn’t try to stop her when she took one step further. Sweat pearling down her brow and back, Sansa stared down at the white fur, amazed by the way the short hair squirmed and swirled incessantly. She touched it delicately with her fingers, utterly astounded. It was so very soft...  Then looking up, she gasped as her gaze fell on the thin line of pink light that had appeared along the horizon behind the range of mountains in the East. The colour was incredible, so flamboyant next to the dull shades of black and grey the night was made of. How beautiful it was, more splendid than anything she had ever witnessed. 

“Take off her cloak,” the voice of the head priestess bade, calm and appeasing.

Sansa could not see where the woman was. There were many priestesses around her, all nearly identical in their matching grey robe. With their cowls up and upper faces shadowed underneath, they seemed so strange and mysterious, a bit frightening even.

The fur cloak Sansa was wrapped in slid from her shoulders, as if on its own, to end up as if by magic in the arms of a priestess several steps away. Sansa looked at the piece of cloth in incomprehension, yet she was too stunned by her sudden state of nakedness to dwell on it. Apart from when she bathed in the hot spring with her mother and sister, never in her life had she been nude outside of her family’s longhouse, therefore to find herself standing as naked as on her nameday at the centre of the weirwood circle was unquestionably nerve-racking. A part of her wanted nothing more than to cover her breasts and woman’s place with her hands, only the memory of Nila’s words prevented her from doing so. 

“The spring ritual sacrifice is no time for modesty”, the woman had warned her just a day before. 

With that in mind, Sansa stood as tall and proud as she could and did not attempt to hide her curves. At least, the cold air was soothing against her unbearably warm skin. She quivered anyway, each inch of her skin so very sensitive. Sansa could sense every single hair on her body rise, one by one. 

“She must lie down,” Nila’s voice came.

Hands found Sansa and guided her to the altar, made her sit on it, then lie down. The fur under her had been folded underneath the nape of her neck so that her head hung back a little and that her throat be exposed.

“Good,” the voice said. In the background, the drum kept thumping, its pace like that of a beating heart.

“How do you feel, Summer Maid? Are you ready for your sacrifice?” Hands took off her boots from her feet, then her stockings.

In her position, Sansa had to look down to see over her. She gazed at the priestesses, their faces undistinguishable under their grey cowls. “Yes,” she breathed. Was she really ready? She doubted it, but it mattered little - it was too late to turn back anyway. 

The rhythm of the drum accelerated and the sound of excited whispers came from behind the weirwood trees. “The Horned Man has arrived,” Nila’s voice announced.

The pace of her pulse hastening, Sansa stiffened over the altar. _ I am naked for all to see, _ she thought as a numb sort of terror washed over her. Spread on the altar as she was with her head hanging back slightly, her body was completely offered to the gods.  _ Or perhaps more exactly, to the Horned Man. _ The idea sent a tremor down her spine, yet Sansa forced herself to keep her eyes opened and look at the scene that played out around her. So far, she could see nothing but the nearest priestesses and the obscurity beyond.

Soon though, the shape of a group of men took form amidst the darkness further away, their figures nearly as black as tar. Her breath catching in her throat, Sansa rolled the back of her head against the fur underneath it to better gaze at them, her stare darting to the tallest among them. She knew very well who it was, there was no mistaking him in this group with his height and build, yet the set of two long horns which rose above his head made it straight out impossible.

As the men walked towards the altar, their features gradually becoming more defined, Sansa stared, her eyes growing wider with every passing second. The Hound… he seemed so different...  _ Like the half-man, half-beast creatures from the legends old Nan used to tell me _ , she mused, engrossed. Even normally, he was nothing if not an imposing and intimidating man, but in his Horned Man attire, he was transformed in one of the most fearsome sights Sansa had ever beheld. 

Where her mask was white, his was black, same as the long fur cloak which was clasped around his shoulders and hid his entire body from the neck down. Holes had been carved in his mask for his eyes and his mouth and chin had been left free. Over his head, twisted horns rose high, making him appear even taller than he actually was, a giant come to conquer this world. Or perhaps more probably did he long to conquer her? Sansa shuddered, eyeing the uncovered burnt flesh of his chin and neck anxiously.

And yet for all of her fear and nervousness, it was clear to Sansa at that instant that the gods had not mistaken, that the Hound had always been meant to be the Horned Man. He looked the part to be sure. A Horned man was not meant to be pleasing to the eyes. No, what mattered was that he inspired both dread and awe, that he be stronger and more virile than any other men of his time. Sansa did not doubt any of the previous concerning the Hound. Shaking in apprehension, she forced herself to meet his gaze. She was the Summer Maid after all and needed to be brave.

The Hound and priests came to a halt a few yards from her, waiting in silence. They were so still, Sansa might have believed they had turned to stone if not for the Hound’s eyes. They were too intent to be those of a statue, dark with lust, and they moved ever so slightly over her, studying her from where he stood. There was something wild about his gaze, a weird spark that told her the herbal tea he was given had put him in a state similar to hers. He didn’t appear as affected as she was though; apart from the strange gleam in his eyes, his expression was as unreadable as always. Sansa wondered if he was nervous at all. She doubted it, couldn’t imagine a man like him could ever be anything less than confident.

A cry resounded through the forest, taking Sansa’s attention from the Hound. It was the head priestess. Her arms lifted over her head, she had turned towards the rising sun and started singing in a tongue as old as time that was said to be that of the Children of the Forest. It was the language of the prayers and though Sansa understood some words of it, it was still mostly unintelligible to her ears, especially in her present state of confusion. From where she was, she could only make out the black outline of the woman’s form and after a moment of staring at it, she began wondering if she had not transformed into naught but shadow in truth. 

After the first verse, all of the other priestesses joined in her song even as some of them lit the tall censers that had been installed at each corner of the altar. Soon, male voices could be heard as well. Gazing at them, Sansa was struck by how similar they were to the priestesses with their matching hooded grey robes. Only the height and beard of some of them told them apart, but many could have passed for women had it not been for their voices.

“Old gods of the forest, here stands the Horned Man you chose to act in your name today,” Nila started, her voice loud and clear. 

As she spoke, the sun finally started appearing above the horizon, a great yellow ball still half hidden behind the mountains. The sky around it grew instantly brighter for it and Sansa was blinded for an instant. 

“Guide him in his claiming of the Summer Maid and insure that their union be as fruitful as the summer we crave. May his seed quicken in her womb, same as the seeds of the trees and plants that soon will grow from the earth to rise towards the sky.” The beat of the drum morphed into something like the gallop of a horse, its rhythm becoming more complex and rapid.

With that, the two priests that stood by the Hound unfastened the heavy black fur cloak he had over his shoulders and pulled it off of him, leaving him as naked as on his name day. All the priests and priestesses wordlessly backed away, their grey cloaks flowing lazily in the air around them, until they had rejoined the shadows by the trees. 

All of a sudden, it was almost as if Sansa and the Hound were alone, though Sansa knew better than to believe as much. She kept her eyes on the masked face of the man before her, not daring to look down at his nakedness. Yet as he approached her, his movement smooth like that of a shadow cat, the intensity of his stare grew too much to bear. She averted her gaze and while she willed herself to look anywhere but  _ there _ , she found herself unable to control herself.

Warmth rushing to her face, Sansa gaped as she laid eyes on  _ him _ . His manhood... it was  _ huge _ ! - much bigger than what she had expected.  _ The head priestess did warn me, _ Sansa remembered. The woman had told her that with a man of the Hound’s size,  _ everything _ was bound to be impressive. She had not lied... 

Never in her life had Sansa seen anything like it. Not only was it long and large, but it also seemed very hard...  _ Is it because of me? _ she wondered, blushing all the more. The bulky thing stood as straight as an arrow before him, bobbing as he slowly walked towards her. The view of it reminded her of those stallions she’d sometimes witnessed mounting mares in the fields not far from the village. There was something beastly about having something so big between one’s legs. For some reason, the notion woke a strange fluttering in Sansa’s lower belly and she squirmed over the altar in hope to chase it away.

_ Soon, we will be mating like the stallions and mares I saw. _ How would his thing ever fit in her? she wondered, her heart beating fast. Panic was threatening to rise in her, however, Sansa knew her role well so instead of showing her fear, she arched her back and opened her legs slightly.

The priests and priestess resumed their queer song, faster now, their voices mingling with the drum. As they did, the sun rose fully above the horizon and Sansa was suddenly bathed in sunlight, the first ray of sunbeams to touch the forest having fallen directly on the altar. In spite of her impossible circumstances, Sansa let out a small moan of pleasure. She squinted against the glare, revelling in the feel of sunlight on her nude body. 

Standing motionless by her side, the Hound let his stare rake over her curves. There was not much that he couldn’t see from her in her position. Sansa shivered under his inspection. She had never felt so exposed and vulnerable. Unable to bear his scrutiny anymore, she let her head hang back and shut her eyes.

“So fucking beautiful...” she heard the man rasp over the drum and priests’ song. He’d spoken very lowly, clearly thinking aloud. 

A large hand landed on Sansa’s raised up thigh, the fingers calloused and rough. Sucking in her breath, she opened her eyes in slits and was at once stunned to see how bright the sky had gotten. It was so beautiful, its colours going from pale blue, to pink and then finally, to golden yellow just around the sun. The few clouds the hung in the sky were lilac and seemed to dance on the chant of the priests and priestesses. Sansa wished she could touch them with her fingers. They seemed so soft. 

With his forefinger’s knuckle, the Hound traced the line of her jaw, his other hand lightly caressing the top of her thigh. He was strangely hesitant, as if he was afraid he might break her, yet Nila’s sudden cry called him to action.

“Horned Man... the altar is awaiting you. Time to join your mate has come,” her voice came from the edge of the forest, rhythmic like the hammering drum in the background.

A large shadow moved by Sansa’s side - the Hound climbing at the foot of the altar as he was asked. He parted her legs to kneel between them and bowed over her. The Horned Man’s mask came into view, dark before the sunrise, its long horns piercing the sky above. Sansa lowered her gaze to look at him, but could hardly make out his features. Backlit as he was, his face was all grey and shade - only the white of his eyes stood out. Sansa looked down at his massive torso. He was so muscular and hairy, she had known this already for having watched him fight shirtless just a couple of weeks before, yet to be so near him... it was different to say the least. As he lowered himself over her, Sansa could smell the manly musk of him and feel the warmth of his skin even though they weren’t touching. The dark hair on his torso seemed to swirl in small spirals, she noticed, mesmerised, and she might have reached up to touch it had it not been for his mouth abruptly crushing hers.

Startled, Sansa blinked and grew taut from toes to neck. She had never been kissed by a man before, or even a boy.  _ It’s not so bad _ , she thought to herself, opening her mouth slightly. The Hound’s lips were rough on her, not as gentle as his hands had been moments ago and the hair of his chest was scratchy against the tip of her breasts.

Sansa would never have wanted the Hound to kiss her, he was too ugly and ill-tempered, but the Horned Man kissing the Summer Maid, that was something else. It was as natural as the moon and sun sharing the sky, as the rivers flowing towards the ocean, as spring always following winter... She kissed him back as was expected of her and lost herself in the soft cushiony feel of his tongue against hers. Sansa was taken aback by how much she enjoyed his kiss, for his mouth had never seemed anything but cruel to her. Or perhaps was it just the herbal tea that made it so good? One way or another, it mattered little to her at that instant and she moved her lips and tongue with his just as eagerly as her instincts told her.

Eventually, the Hound withdrew his mouth from hers and let his lips trail down her neck. Very slowly, he caressed her shoulders, her upper arms and forearms all the way to her hands. His mouth left her skin as he moved down on her to knead her from ribs to hips, his breath warm and ticklish against her stomach. With heavy-lidded eyes, Sansa watched him: a giant kneeling at her feet, muscled like a bull and just as horned. And indeed, she could feel his other horn, hard and ready against her thigh. Sansa bit at her lip as pressure built between her legs. The Hound’s careful ministrations were having an undeniable effect on her, odd as it may be.

His hands were so dark against the paleness of her skin, almost brown with some dark hair growing on their backs. They travelled to her thighs and then, to her calves and ankles. His touch on her feet was exquisite and she mewed as he stroked her there, unsure what was getting into her. The Hound kissed her knee and lifted his palms to cup her breasts. Circling the lower half of them, he pushed them upward, taking one nipple in his mouth to suck at it greedily. Sansa groaned and shifted under him. The sensation was so acute, like nothing she had ever experienced. Moisture was seeping between her legs, she realised in slight embarrassment, and her centre was pulsing just as rhythmically as the drum. With his other hand, the Hound rolled between his thumb and forefinger the nipple he wasn’t busy suckling. He switched nipple after a moment, his hands caressing both breasts in a maddening mix of gentleness and firmness.

The cadence of the drum changed and from that, Sansa knew the second part of the ceremony would now begin. She tensed even as the Hound briefly froze over her.  Straightening his back, he removed his mouth from the nipple he had been grazing, leaving it shiny and stiff. His breath was laboured, same as if he’d been running through the woods instead of kneeling on an altar with her, and his great chest was heaving visibly. Their gazes locked, the spark Sansa glimpsed in his eyes reminding her every bit of the rabid dog he claimed he was.

Moving back over the altar, the Hound opened her thighs wider so as to make space for him. He gazed down at Sansa’s most private part, his obvious interest sending a hot flush up her face. In her position, her lower lips were opened, exposing the tender flesh underneath. Sansa wondered if it was as moist as it felt, and if the Hound had noticed it. Then, as Nila started reciting a sentence in the ancient language of the Children of the Forest, the Hound lowered his face on her until his mouth was pressed on the juncture of her thighs.

Sansa had known that he would kiss her there, the head priestess had told her as much and said that it was meant to enthral and prepare her for the Horned Man’s claiming of her, however, she was still taken by surprise when he did. It was no chaste kiss than that of a man on a maiden’s folds. How could it be, even had it been with closed lips? But it was not of course. He was licking her, his tongue flipping on that little pearl of pleasure Nila had told her about, and Sansa let out a long whimper, astounded by the tumult the simple gesture woke in her.

“The gods have been wise and gifted us women with a nub of flesh from which great pleasure can arise,” the priestess had taught her a few days ago. “Women need to be tempted to lay with men so that the perpetuation of our race be assured. Besides, it is well known that one cannot procreate without having climaxed, that they be male or female.”

While Nila’s teachings did make a lot of sense, they hadn’t reassured Sansa as much as she knew they ought to. She’d been fretful as she waited for the sacrifice alone in her small chamber during the previous week, wondered if she’d know the pleasure the woman had spoken of...  And if she did, would she become big with the Hound’s child as the priestesses all seemed to hope? The mere idea had been enough to send Sansa into a frenzy anytime she reflected on it, yet now that she was in the thick of it, in communion with the gods with her senses more stimulated than ever, the notion was simply too abstract for her to linger upon it. She could hardly think straight, was too flustered to understand or care about anything that wasn’t  _ now _ .   

The Hound’s mouth on her was infinitely more pleasurable than what Sansa had imagined. His tongue and lips were restless on her nub, his hands warm and strong as he caressed the thighs he had on each side of his face. While Sansa had touched herself  _ there _ out of curiosity after her talk with Nila, she had not been nearly as sensitive as now during those tries. Was it because of the herbal tea she had drunk, of the context or of all of the Hound’s prior caresses if she was so responsive? Sansa’s centre had already been aflame before the man started his lewd kisses, but now she could barely contain herself. She moaned continuously, enjoying the, oh so careful flips of his tongue on her just as much as the feel on his fingers gently digging in the soft skin of her thighs. It was obvious he took great pleasure from his task, Sansa could tell by the fervour he put in it and the small grunt he emitted every now and then. 

Distractedly, she watched him, a horned creature feeding between her legs _. A beast, that’s what he is,  _ she mused. With her eyes closed, she could almost picture his hooves and tail, his thick dark fur, his stallion size manhood... With her white mask and slender frame, Sansa was no more than a fawn next to him, so very pure and vulnerable, and her auburn hair was as red as the blood she would soon lose by his doing, an apt reminder of what was to come…

“Summer Maid,” Nila called before continuing in the old tongue of the Children of the Forest. She spoke words Sansa had been trained to recognise and the sound of them abruptly took her out of her trancelike state.

The Hound knew them as well. He removed his mouth from her woman’s place and rose to his knees. As he did, Sansa opened her eyes to peer up at the sky. It had gotten almost completely blue by now, though it was still pink and orange around the sun and darker in the west.

Moving on the rhythm of the drum, the Hound approached her without leaving the altar until he was kneeling by her side and holding his shaft inches from her face. Sansa gulped. She had been dreading that moment from the moment the head priestess described to her the task she would have to perform. But she knew it was essential in order that the gods be satisfied, that the Horned Man’s resistance had to be tested before he could take her maidenhead. Sansa was naught if not dutiful and thus, she propped herself up on her elbows and closed her lips around the head of his manhood.

Groaning, the Hound dug his fingers into her hair. He was shaking slightly, she realised as she gradually took more of him into her mouth. Did her simple gesture really have that much effect on him? Sansa had never imagined the Hound could ever shake, let alone because of her. His shaft was so big, she was unable to fit it completely into her mouth, but she managed to take half of it inside easily enough. As she had been instructed, she swirled her tongue around it, her heart hammering in her chest and tension building between her thighs.

Sansa had feared that the Hound’s flesh would taste foul, that his odour would repulse her, and was relieved to find neither proved true. He smelled and tasted mostly of soap, though there was something musky and male underneath it, a tangy flavour that stung her tongue. She stretched her neck, taking him as much as she could in her mouth before pulling out almost completely and repeating the motion again. It didn’t go all that well; she needed better purchase, thus she clamped her hand behind his steel-hard thigh and closed her other hand around the base of his manhood. The Hound let out a weak, throaty moan at that, followed by a string of muttered curses as Sansa started sucking at his member. Gods, how so very taut and big it was. The sensation of it in her mouth was undeniably queer, its skin soft and thin over the stiffness underneath. Sansa squirmed and pressed her thighs together as hard as she could, suddenly wishing the Hound could kiss her down there again as well.

Sansa looked up at him. She could only discern the outline of his towering form against the sunlight, the horns dark and threatening.  _ I’m pleasuring a giant, a fiend came from south of the Wall where monsters of all sorts are said to roam the land,  _ Sansa mused. The thought should’ve been scary, yet somehow, it only increased the heat which was burning in her core, which in turn compelled her to work harder on him. The Hound was grunting like a beast, his manhood pulsing in her mouth and the hand he had in her hair quivering. Sansa wondered for an instant if he would not spill himself down her throat before he had time to accomplish his duty – she could taste some salty fluid at the tip of his manhood - yet thankfully for the whole tribe, he didn’t lose more than a drop or two and held on.

Then suddenly, the drum ceased its beating. Well aware of what that meant, Sansa removed the Hound’s manhood from her mouth and waited, her pulse hastening so much, it nearly deafened her.

“Fuck,” the man rasped, his husky voice so very raw. He exhaled loudly, the fingers he had in her hair shifting stiffly.

With gentle hands, he pushed her away and Sansa let go of her grip on him to rest her back against the fur underneath her. Keeping his stare pinned on her, the Hound moved back over the altar until he was kneeling between her legs. The shadows around the weirwood circle grew agitated, and indistinct and excited murmurs reached Sansa’s ears. In the bright morning daylight, she could now clearly see these were people watching from afar, though she still couldn’t make out their features. She couldn’t recognise any of them, which was probably for the best. Never in her life had Sansa been in such an immodest position as she was now with her legs parted and folds opened and shiny with her own moisture.  _ I am the Summer Maid, _ she reminded herself, blushing madly _. I have nothing to be ashamed of. _

“Old Gods of the Forest. Here we offer you the blood of a virgin,” Nila’s voice came thundering. The woman’s form glided towards the altar like a ghost, the pale grey of her robe incredibly vivid. “May this gift appease your anger and compel you to put a stop to the cold harshness of winter. And may this day mark the beginning of spring and the Summer Maid’s blood stand as a symbol of the ending of our people’s suffering.”

The drums resumed beating, slowly at first, and the head priestess vanished from Sansa’s sight. Once more, Summer Maid and Horned Man were seemingly alone in the world. The Hound looked down at her, grey eyes shining under his mask. The scars on his jaw were glistening in the most fascinating manner, Sansa noticed, distracted for a short instant.

“Little bird,” he whispered so softly she wasn’t sure she truly heard him speak. Had his lips even moved?

With that, he lowered himself over her and Sansa felt something hard and big brush against her folds. She gulped, knowing very well what it was, and barely managed not to flinch away and to keep her posture. She was too tense, too rigid.  _ The Summer Maid ought not to fear being claimed by the Horned Man, _ Sansa tried to reason, but it was no good. She dreaded the pain she knew she was to expect and began trembling in spite of her best effort not to.

_ Relax, _ the wind whispered to her, the voice soft and thin and as old as time. As if to encourage her, it rose to caress her naked skin. Sansa sighed in delight, the fresh breeze more than welcome. The air around her was boiling hot, as thick as the warm wool blankets she had at home, yet the Horned Man was even warmer where their skin touched. Sansa breathed in deeply, feeling her body unwind as she exhaled.

Readying herself for what was to come, she locked eyes with the man before her. He grasped her hip with one large hand and positioned himself. The sun was casting light on both of them and the Hound was gazing at her with something wild and passionate in his eyes. He placed the head of his manhood at Sansa’s entrance and pushed it inside of her -slowly, steadily. Sansa threw her head back and gasped. As she had been warned, it did hurt, yet she offered no resistance against the invasion and tried to loosen up. As the Hound made his way into her, she kept her back well arched and legs wide open. The drum’s beat was getting faster. There was movement in the forest, excitement in the air.

Sansa let out a whimper and squeezed her eyes shut as the Hound’s whole length was at last completely sheathed in her. The man groaned, his powerful body shaking against her. For what seemed like a very long time, they stayed like that, joined in the most intimate manner possible and barely moving. Sansa’s insides were so very stretched, she felt as if she was about to burst. Sweat was beading over her brow and her woman’s place was sore and throbbing, still after a few heartbeats, the pain gradually became more bearable until it had nearly receded completely. 

The clearing was very silent and peaceful, almost eerie. Sansa only realised the drum had paused as it started again, its rhythm measured and monotonous, a simple hit every second or so. Without pulling out of her, the Hound straightened his back, holding her thighs against his sides. When his torso was fully upright, he slowly withdrew his manhood, the gesture meant to display the blood she had lost to the priests and priestesses. Very illogically, Sansa feared for an instant that in spite of her maidenhood having been verified no later than a week before, there’d be nothing staining the altar underneath her. She shut her eyes, afraid, yet the priests and priestesses’ chant resumed, louder and imploring, telling her naught was amiss. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Sansa opened her eyes just as the Hound entered her again, his slow shove sending a pang down her abdomen. She bit at her bottom lip, adamant about keeping her discomfort to herself. _ We are one, _ Sansa thought once he was fully in. His eyes closed and face tilted up, the man moved ever so slightly in her, his fingers tracing small circles on her thighs. In their position with her reclined over the altar and him kneeling before her, his impressive physique towered over her in the most intimidating fashion. Sansa let her stare trail over his muscled chest and arms and recited the prayers the priestesses had taught her in her head, wondering if the Hound did the same. He seemed concentrated, ecstatic, so very serene... 

While her insides still burned, it hardly bothered Sansa anymore. She even welcomed the pain, knowing she was suffering in the god’s honour, that the feeling was allowing her to commune with them all the more. It was a blessing in disguise in a way. Her pain was like a great beacon shining in the sky, so beautiful and dazzling she had to squint against its glorious light. 

Then, the cadence of the drum fastened and the Hound gazed down at her expectantly. Sansa locked eyes with him and they both started rocking their hips together. Sansa was surprised by how fluid and natural the movement was. Nila had described to her at great length how she would need to sway her hips as the Horned Man claimed her, yet she had feared that it would be awkward, that she would forget everything she’d been taught, that she’d have no skills... None of her qualms proved true. His large hand on her hip, the Hound was coming in and out of her at the rhythm the drum established. Sansa’s body was like a wave in the ocean, in constant motion and as flowing as water. What they were doing seemed very primal, a proof that men and women were in truth no more than animals. It was humbling, though not in a shameful way. No, there was beauty in the notion, knowledge that everything was a part of the same whole. 

With the Hound’s shoves in her, something was being stimulated inside of Sansa. The ache she had been experiencing earlier had dimmed and was now mingling with something else that made her want to writhe and moan. And thus she did – over and over again. Could the priests and priestesses hear her over the drum and their chant? It was difficult to say, still it hardly mattered. One way or another, Sansa would have been unable to control herself even if she had willed it. The Hound’s length and width restlessly going in and out of her was simply too delicious for her to keep quiet. She bucked her hips against his, blissfully receiving each of his thrust in her.

The Hound’s hands began travelling on her, following the path she knew they would. He was observing the choreography of the sacrifice as planned, yet that it be predictable didn’t make his touch any less elating. To the contrary, nothing had ever been as pleasurable to Sansa as the man’s calloused palms on her. That, added to the friction of his manhood in her was driving her over the edge. Sansa was losing herself in all the sensations she was incessantly assailed with – each brush, shove and stroke was so overwhelming and intense that for the time being, it was as if naught else existed in the world.

But what kept bringing her back to reality was that longing she had for something more, that climax which was said to be more intoxicating than any magic herb. Sansa had always hoped that she would reach it, for she was a good girl and wanted to please the gods, the priestesses and her people by performing the sacrifice to perfection. However, now that she was in the thick of it, it was for herself that she wanted it. It was so glaringly near, she could almost touch it, but it was too soon and she knew it. 

Therefore Sansa rocked her hips at the cadence the drum set. Painstakingly unhurried as it may be, going faster could very well ruin the ceremony which would greatly displease the gods, something she would never risk. The Hound gazed down at her, one of his hands holding her thigh, the other busy moulding her breasts and pinching her nipples. His eyes were dark with want, his muscles tense and member like a steel bar going back and forth into her. Somehow, Sansa could tell he was just as frustrated as she was and would have wished to claim her harder. Yet if he lasted long enough, he would get to do just that. So far, he was doing well from as far as Sansa could tell. The head priestess had told her that not all Horned Men had control enough over themselves to perform the whole ceremony. The Elders and priests could even divine how the forthcoming summer would be from the Horned Man’s performance. A Horned Man who spilled his seed too soon was no good sign. It announced a short summer or even worse, sometimes a false spring.

“Summer Maid,” the voice of the head priestess came. She continued in the old tongue of the Children of the Forest and this time again, Sansa understood very well what she said. It was time for her to straddle the Horned Man, she realised with trepidation.

There was a slight change to the drum’s rhythm, indicating they should do as the woman had demanded and switch position. With some reluctance, the Hound withdrew his member from Sansa’s folds and removed his hands from her thighs. He gently helped her to her knees and lay his massive body down over the altar in her place. Sansa was a bit dizzy, still she managed to stay upward, the hand the man kept on her waist a welcomed help. Pulling her over him so that she straddled him, the Hound took his member in his fist and lifted it up. It was huge and stiff, shiny with both her moisture and maiden’s blood. Sansa sat on it and immediately began sliding it inside of her. She groaned as it gradually made its way into her, each additional inch adding to the pressure in her belly until his manhood had completely disappeared from sight. Sansa’s inside were still a bit tender, just enough to remind her of the sacrifice she was taking part of. But mostly to be filled by the Horned Man was beyond exquisite this time around...

Same as if she was riding a horse, Sansa swung her pelvis against the Hound’s hips, the man cupping the cheeks of her behind with his huge paws and letting out grunts and muttered curses as she did. Now that she was the one on top with a higher field of vision, she could see the clearing much better, yet her entire attention was on the man she straddled, the Horned Man with his hairy muscles coated with a sheen of sweat, his dark mask, long twisted horns and lustful, feverish eyes. 

The drum was growing increasingly hasty, a pace for which Sansa had longed for just a moment before. Though he was on his back, the Hound was anything but inert and he met each of her sways with a thrust of his own, his rough hands travelling from her thighs to her waist, to her breasts and then down to her thighs again. The wet sounds their coupling produced were hard to ignore. Sansa was blushing deeply, wondering if the Hound could hear them as well. There was so much moisture seeping from her folds, it was getting slippery. She might have been abashed had it not been for Nila’s teachings. This was a sign of her arousal, something natural she should welcome.  _ Does the Hound welcome it as well? Does it make him even harder?  _ the question came unbidden, increasing the warm flush of her face and chest.

The drum’s cadence only kept getting crazier, but following it as best she could, Sansa continuously pushed that part of her which ached to be stimulated, harder and harder against the Hound. The drum was wild, which fitted perfectly with the way they now bred like beasts. It was as if Sansa was possessed by a force stronger than herself. She had no inhibition, only one blinding goal... to serve the gods by knowing ecstasy and receiving the Horned Man’s seed in her.

Everything around her and the Hound was but a colourful blur and while Sansa could discern the shape of people in her peripheral vision, that there be spectators couldn’t have bothered her less at that point. To the contrary, she could now see the sense of it. From time immemorial, Summer Maid and Horned Man had met at the dawn of spring to join flesh for the sake of mankind. While their roles were never played by the same individuals, all who won the honour were part of the same great cycle and bore responsibility over their brief part of it. Sansa was like a bolt in the great wheel of life, a wheel turned by the gods themselves. No one could be blamed for wishing to witness what little of that wheel they could during their lifetime. It was only natural.

Feeling her climax coming, Sansa shut her eyes to better focus on her task. It was so close, she could almost touch it, but it was such a colossal and daunting thing that it nearly scared her. And yet for all of that, she certainly wanted to get it. She would have begged the gods for it in fact…

And then just as she was about to sob in frustration, it hit her like a ton of brick, like something otherworldly. Stars travelling through the universe at an unimaginable speed and landing in an explosion like the land and sky had never known before. Sansa nearly screamed as it imploded in her, a very languorous scream. She faded into nothingness as the world around her became naught but blinding white light, her being entirely consumed by the sweet fire of her loins. 

When she came back to reality, Sansa was panting and stirring over the Hound’s rock hard torso. His eyes dark and heated, he was gazing at her like she was some goddess he revered –  _ and wanted _ . He didn’t lose an instant when he saw she had come round. Clenching his hands over her hips, the Hound started pounding himself in her, his body shaking with his own violent climax nearly just as soon. His solid chest and arms were gleaming with sweat under the strong early morning light and Sansa watched in fascination as the sturdy muscles under her contracted with all of the man’s formidable strength, as his features contorted in pleasure... She felt his manhood pulse in her and rolled her pelvis with his vigorous comings and goings, keen on accompanying him through his peak. Waves of pleasure coursing through her, Sansa moved with him until after many grunts and powerful shoves, he exhaled deeply and grew limp under her. Exhausted as well, she let herself fall onto him, his heavy arm closing around her.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, excited murmurs came from the edge of the forest, bringing Sansa back to life. She twisted onto herself over the Hound to gaze around herself. Everything was colourful and beautiful: the trees, the sky, the clouds... The snow was shining like some precious stone, as if millions of small diamonds covered the ground. Even her own body amazed her with its creamy skin and round breasts. The feel of sunbeams on her nakedness was glorious, so warm and pleasant. She stretched under its glow, the Hound stirring beneath her even as his member grew softer in her womanhood.

Sansa smiled contently to herself, suddenly overwhelmed with euphoric joy. Both she and the Hound had come to completion nearly in unison; this was no small feat and pretty much the best outcome possible to the sacrifice! Jerking her head down, she found his stare with hers and was taken aback by the air of openness there was about him. For the first time in her life, she saw the man behind the Hound.  _ Sandor _ , she thought. That was who she now gazed at. A moment of eternity passed between them during which everything was still and quiet. They were united in both body and soul, one in every sense of the word.  _ The Summer Maid and the Horned Man. _

Then all of a sudden, the priests and priestesses approached the altar, their voices rising in a chant of victory. “The signs are here!” Nila exclaimed blissfully. “Spring will start imminently and be followed by the longest summer we’ve seen in decades.  Let the celebrations begin!” the woman proclaimed, cheers resounding through the clearing afterwards.

Two priestesses helped Sansa from both the Hound and the altar. Her legs were weak under her as she stood stark naked on solid ground for the first time in a lifetime, it seemed. If not for the priestesses, she might have fallen to the floor, yet they kept their arms linked with hers in order to steady her. Sansa cruelly missed the Hound’s warmth and was thankful when the white cloak which had been discarded earlier was brought back and wrapped around her body. Gazing behind herself, she watched as the man rose to his feet, his dark fur cloak placed over his shoulders by two priests. There was blood on the altar, she saw, the dark red hue as vibrant as the green of the conifers, the blue of the sky and the white of snow. The breeze was warm and soft like a lover’s caress and Sansa smiled, happy and proud. _ I did it. We did it,  _ she thought, grateful to the old gods of the forest as cheers and claps resounded louder and louder.


	7. Epilogue

It was a beautiful day. Again. Spring was upon them in truth, no doubt about it. Since the little bird’s maidenhead’s sacrifice, there had been but a few days of mild rain, just enough to help wash off the few inches of snow that remained on the forest floor. The air was warm and smelled of damp earth and all across the woods, colourful flowers were beginning to pierce the ground. There was excitement in the air, an atmosphere of exultation and merriness. 

And there had been no lack of celebration at the village lately indeed. For the first moon following the sacrifice, there had been a banquet everyday with plenty of food, drinks and wild herbs for everyone and a feast had been organised every week after that. People were joyous and carried their daily chores with lightness and good humour, as if all of life’s hardships were but a distant memory and not likely ever to come back. 

Yet today, the whole clan was on tenterhooks, for the Summer Maid would finally be allowed back to the village. Unlike Sandor, the little bird had been kept in the Forest Temple for the past three moons and thus not been able to join in the festivities that had followed the ceremony. The priestesses had looked after her as they waited to see just how successful their offering to the gods had been. In the meantime, no one had been allowed contact with her apart from her parents on a few chosen occasions - not even the Elders had been permitted to visit her.

While everything had gone to perfection during the ceremony itself, there was one last detail that could go one way or the other and over which the quality of Sandor’s performance could hardly have had any true influence - no matter what some pretended when he had his back turned. Today, everyone of the tribe would learn even as Sandor did just how much of a triumph the ritual sacrifice of the little bird’s maidenhead had been. Gathered just outside of the Forest Temple, they all waited for her to step out, ready to greet her back into the clan and escort her to the village where a feast would be held. 

All were impatient to see in which state the girl would be, Sandor being no exception. Some men had even wagered about it and kept arguing with one another over the most likely outcome at the back of the press. They were laughing and yelling and barely made any buggering sense, which was really not surprising seeing how they’d kept smoking wild herbs and drinking spruce ale for the past half hour. While they irritated him to no end, Sandor did his best to hide it lest they noticed it and tried to goad him into a fight as they would probably enjoy a little too much. Sandor wanted to give the little bird his entire attention and would not allow himself to get distracted by some dirty bastard trying to challenge his virility.

“One way or another, you did well, Sandor,” Orog told him. The old man reached up to pat his shoulder and smiled at him, his weathered face wrinkling all the more. 

Sandor’s mouth twitched, yet he nodded at him nonetheless. He couldn’t help but not hate Orog in spite of him being of the Elder’s Council. How could he when the man had done nothing but encourage him in this whole endeavour from the very start? He’d been supportive and still was, had wanted him to be the little bird’s Horned Man even though Sandor indisputably lacked the faith in the gods one might expect from someone bearing the title. And now, he kept implying his work was not over, that it was only the beginning in fact...  _ to which Sandor agreed _ .

In the meantime, he couldn’t wait to see Sansa again. It had been three whole moons since he had taken her purity for all to see. Sandor wished he could do it again - not take her purity but take  _ her _ . Those three moons had been so damned interminable… To add to that, with the way he’d been intoxicated on those bloody mushrooms, Sandor sadly didn’t remember the sacrifice in as much detail as he’d have liked. The little bird had been in one hell of a state too, though she’d seemed to enjoy herself well enough. Sandor had recalled those images of her squirming and moaning under him, of her eagerly straddling him, over and over again throughout those endless past three moons. Often, he had taken himself in hand as he did, trying to picture how it would be to have her by his side, naked in his bed...

She had come. Nila, the head priestess, had said as much after the ceremony, professing to all that could hear how good of an omen it was. Sandor almost snorted at the memory. Only a man both blind and deaf wouldn’t have known the little bird had reached completion. Her moans had been loud and beautiful, her pleasure written all over her face and body. And besides, Sandor had not only witnessed her climax, he’d felt it. Her insides had squeezed his cock so tightly, he couldn’t have lasted an instant longer even if he had willed it. But he hadn’t. He’d been instructed to aim to peak just after the Summer Maid and he had gladly obliged. He had been so bloody aroused... If it had not been for the herbal tea the priests have brewed him, Sandor was convinced he’d have lost it and spilled his seed from his very first shove in her. Or even worse, from the instant she took his cock in her mouth.  _ The Others be damned... _ Now that would’ve been humiliating to say the least.

“People of the tribe,” Nila’s voice called at last, taking Sandor out of his musing. “Come and see your Summer Maid.” 

The crowd grew quiet at once, though expectant murmurs could still be heard, and all turned towards the Temple’s entrance. His heart racing, Sandor crossed his arms stiffly over his chest as he waited, his mouth twitching. He could sense the stares of some of the crowd on him, his reaction arousing their curiosity just as much as the Summer Maid’s state. 

And then Sansa was there, a vision in the threshold of the large wooden door that led to the Temple’s garden. Cheers resounded through the clearing from the instant she appeared. She was as striking as could be. Her dress was white, made of hide and embroidered with colourful flowers and her pretty red hair fell loosely all the way to her waist. But what caught the eyes of all was how rounded her stomach had grown already. His seed had quickened, Sandor realised, a grin spreading on his lips. A child had been conceived during the ceremony.

All around Sandor, people were shouting and congratulating him. There were so many hands clapping him on the back and arms he couldn’t even tell whose they were, but it didn’t matter. Sandor was too ecstatic and proud to care about much. Caressing her newly swollen belly, the little bird briefly met his stare and smiled shyly when Sandor winked at her before quickly averting her eyes. Gods, but she was too fucking fetching...

_ I’ll get her to be my wife, whatever it takes, _ he vowed. 

The courting could now begin.  

 

THE END


End file.
